Chapter 7 - Whispers in the Hallway
Upstairs, the clock struck 3:30 AM.
Clara stood by the nursery window on the second floor, looking down at the moonlit gardens below. The boys were fast asleep in their beds, their breathing deep and rhythmic, completely unaware of the nightmare their family had just survived.
Andrew stood behind her, his arms wrapped securely around her shoulders, his chin resting softly against her hair.
"We’re going to leave this place, Clara," Andrew murmured softly. "We’ll pack up everything, take the boys, and move to the coast. No memories, no ghosts, no corporations. Just us."
Clara smiled, leaning back against his chest. "I’d like that, Andrew. Just a quiet life. Just—"
Thud.
The sound was faint, muffled by the thick Persian carpets in the hallway, but to a man who had spent years in high-stakes boardrooms and dangerous negotiations, it was unmistakable.
It was the sound of a booted footstep on hardwood.
Andrew instantly released Clara, his body tensing into defensive posture. He stepped in front of the nursery door, holding his hand up to signal silence.
"Stay behind me," Andrew whispered.
Clara nodded, her hand sliding into the pocket of her housecoat where she had slipped a heavy brass door key.
Slowly, silently, Andrew turned the brass handle of the nursery door and pulled it open an inch.
May you like
The hallway was dark, illuminated only by the pale moonlight streaming through the high arched windows. But near the top of the grand staircase, a large silhouette stood motionless, holding a heavy, dark object in its right hand.
Marcus Vance.
