Chapter 3 - The Trap in the FogBy three in the afternoon, the sea fog had thickened into a dense, blinding wall of grey.
Inside Halloway House, the atmosphere was suffocatingly quiet. Meredith had spent the morning tending to Thaddeus, who seemed unusually restless. The old man kept tapping his left hand against the bed rail—one single, sharp tap every few minutes.
No. No. No.
“What is it, Mr. Halloway?” Meredith asked gently, wiping his forehead with a damp cloth. “Are you in pain?”
Thaddeus shook his head weakly, his eyes fixed on the heavy velvet curtains covering the balcony doors. He tapped the rail again, louder this time.
Tap.
Meredith walked over to the balcony door and pulled back the curtain. Through the thick glass, she could see nothing but swarming grey mist. But then, a faint sound caught her attention—the distinct crunch of gravel beneath heavy tires on the rear service road.
That road was only used for deliveries, and no deliveries were scheduled for Saturdays.
Meredith felt a cold spike of fear in her veins. She quickly stepped back into the corridor to find Marcus, but the security guard assigned to the floor was nowhere to be seen.
“Marcus?” she called out softly into the empty hall.
Silence answered her.
Meredith walked down the carpeted hallway toward the grand staircase. The house felt unnaturally vast, like a tomb wrapped in velvet. As she reached the landing of the second floor, she heard voices echoing from the main foyer below.
She crept to the marble balustrade and looked down.
Standing near the scattered fragments of the silver tray—which had been swept clean, though a faint mark remained—stood Celeste Ashford. She was wearing a thick fur coat, her hair damp from the fog.
Beside her were three large men in dark overcoats. One of them was holding a heavy silenced pistol in his hand.
Lying near the front doors was Marcus, unconscious, a pool of blood darkening the back of his head.
Meredith’s heart hammered frantically against her ribs. She pressed her back against the marble pillar, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she held her baby tight.
“Find the old man,” Celeste’s voice echoed up the staircase, shrill and venomous. “And find that pregnant bitch. My father wants August to come home to a graveyard.”
“What about the staff?” one of the armed men asked in a gruff voice.
“Lock the servants in the cellar,” Celeste snapped. “If they make a sound, shoot them. August thought he could humiliate me? He thought he could ruin my family’s name? I’m going to burn this palace to the ground with his precious nurse inside it.”
Meredith knew she had only seconds to act.
The house phones had likely been cut, and her own cellphone was upstairs in her quarters. If she tried to run for the front doors, she would be caught instantly. The service stairs were her only option, but she couldn't leave Thaddeus upstairs alone to be murdered in his bed.
She turned quietly and ran as fast as her heavy pregnancy would allow back toward Thaddeus’s room.
She burst through the door, locking it behind her and dragging a heavy mahogany chair under the brass handle.
Thaddeus looked up from his bed, his eyes wide with instant understanding. He tapped the rail twice.
Yes. Danger.
“We have to move, Mr. Halloway,” Meredith whispered, her voice shaking as she rushed to his side. “Celeste is here with armed men. They’ve taken out security.”
Thaddeus didn't panic. Instead, his left arm reached out, pointing forcefully toward the massive stone fireplace at the end of the room.
Meredith looked at the fireplace. “What is it?”
Thaddeus tapped his fingers against the bed rail three times, then pointed again at the carved wooden mantle above the hearth, specifically at a small, ornate lion’s head sculpture.
Meredith ran to the fireplace. She reached up and pressed her fingers against the lion’s head.
With a soft click, the heavy stone hearth shifted, swinging inward on hidden iron hinges to reveal a dark, narrow passageway built into the thick double walls of the ancient mansion.
It was a panic room—a secret escape route built by Thaddeus decades ago during the height of the mob wars.
“Good God,” Meredith breathed.
She rushed back to the bed, unhooking Thaddeus’s portable oxygen tank and unlocking the wheels of his lightweight transport chair. With strength born of sheer adrenaline, she managed to transfer the frail old man into the chair, wrapping him in a heavy wool blanket.
Just as she wheeled him toward the secret entrance, heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway outside.
BANG! BANG!
Someone was throwing their body against the locked bedroom door.
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“In here! Quickly!” Meredith whispered, pushing the wheelchair into the dark stone passage.
She stepped inside behind him and pulled the heavy stone hearth back into place just as the mahogany door shattered open into the room.
