Chapter 3 - Shadows on the Wall
The grand library of the Baron mansion was lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves, illuminated only by the crackling embers of the great stone fireplace. Willa, now wrapped in an oversized knit sweater and dry trousers provided by the housekeeper, sat curled in a wingback chair, nursing a mug of black tea.
At the center of the Persian rug stood Sloan Prescott, arms crossed, accompanied by Hollis Ward. Hollis looked dignified as ever in his pressed charcoal suit, his silver pocket watch chain gleaming in the firelight. Yet his hands were tucked securely behind his back, fingers twitching ever so slightly.
"Elias, this is an utter circus," Sloan scoffed, tossing her designer clutch onto the glass table. "You dragged us back here in the middle of a storm because of the wild claims of an exhausted, indebted girl who was caught red-handed stealing corporate secrets. You're humiliating me in front of our staff."
Elias poured himself two fingers of neat bourbon from the decanter on his desk. He didn't offer a drop to anyone else. "Hollis," he said quietly, ignoring Sloan’s outburst. "Who did you meet at the east gate at two-fifteen this morning?"
Hollis blinked once, his grandfatherly mask slipping for a fraction of a second before hardening into polite confusion. "I beg your pardon, Elias? The east gate? I haven't approached that side of the garden in years. It’s overgrown with ivy."
"Willa saw you from the second-floor terrace," Elias stated, walking over to stand inches from the older man. "She saw you hand a package to a thin man with silver hair. Would you like me to pull the perimeter thermal sensors, or should we save the electricity and you simply tell me who he was?"
Hollis’s eyes flickered toward Sloan, a silent, panicked exchange of glances that Elias did not miss.
"She was hallucinating, Elias," Sloan snapped loudly, stepping between them. "Just like she hallucinated seeing Cecilia’s name on a bogus freight document! Cecilia is dead! We buried her! Why are you letting this girl dig up your sister's ghost when we are three weeks away from our wedding?"
"Because Cecilia’s ghost seems to be shipping containers through my docks, Sloan," Elias hissed, his voice dropping into a guttural growl that made Sloan flinch backward. He reached into his coat pocket and tossed Willa’s confiscated smartphone onto the desk.
"You took her phone," Elias noted. "Why did you care what photographs a junior secretary had taken unless there was something on there that could hang you?"
Sloan’s throat worked convulsively. "I... I suspected she was selling photos of your private correspondence to the federal prosecutors. You know the Eastern District of Maryland has been sniffing around our shipping manifests for six months. I did it to protect you!"
"Unlock it, Willa," Elias ordered, sliding the phone across the polished wood.
Willa stepped forward on unsteady legs, her bare feet silent on the floorboards. She picked up the phone, entered her passcode, and brought up the cloud sync folder. She tapped a timestamped image from three days prior: a pristine, high-resolution photograph of the 2019 manifest.
Elias leaned over the screen. His eyes narrowed to slits as he magnified the lower-right box. There it was. The signature. But it wasn't just Cecilia’s signature.
May you like
At the bottom of the form, embedded in the alphanumeric clearance code, was a microscopic series of initials that only three people in the world knew how to decode: C.B. - S.P. - H.W.
Elias lifted his head, his eyes burning with a murderous fury that drained all color from Sloan’s cheeks. "Cecilia didn't drown alone, did she? And she didn't approve this cargo from beyond the grave. You two used her name to clear contraband out of my docks while I was mourning her funeral in New York."
