Chapter 5 - Returning to the Lion's Den
Two nights later, a massive charity gala was held at the Mercer estate. It was the perfect cover. Hundreds of wealthy elite, politicians, and business partners flooded the grand halls, creating a chaotic sea of tuxedos and ballgowns.
Callum had arranged for Harper to slip back into the house, not through the front gates, but through a laundry delivery truck. She wore a different maid uniform, her hair dyed darker, and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses to obscure her face.
"You have exactly twenty minutes while the speeches are happening in the ballroom," Callum had told her over an encrypted phone line. "Graham will be on stage. Laurel will be with him. The guards on the second floor will be pulled down to secure the perimeter. The Blue Room key is hidden inside the grandfather clock in the main hallway. Find the ledger, and get out."
Harper’s heart pounded as she crept up the back stairwell. The mansion was alive with the distant sound of a string quartet and the clinking of champagne glasses.
She reached the grandfather clock, her fingers trembling as she reached into the dark wooden casing. Her hand brushed against a cold, heavy iron key. She pulled it out and darted down the dimly lit eastern wing of the house, toward the forbidden door.
The Blue Room.
The brass lock clicked open with a heavy, echoing sound. Harper slipped inside and shut the door behind her, locking it from the inside.
The room was frozen in time, covered in thick layers of white dust sheets. It smelled of old paper, stagnant air, and forgotten memories. Harper ignored the eerie atmosphere and rushed toward the massive brick fireplace.
She began running her hands along the dark wood paneling, pressing against the carved edges just as her mother had described in the diary.
Nothing. Come on, Mom, where is it?
She pressed harder on a small, raised molding shaped like a rosebud.
Click.
A small square panel popped open with a puff of dust. Inside the dark recess lay a heavy, leather-bound book wrapped in decaying plastic.
Harper reached in and pulled it out. She unwrapped the plastic, revealing the unmistakable gold lettering of Mercer Shipping & Logistics – 2006.
She opened it. Page after page of double-entry bookkeeping, signed not by Daniel Mercer, but by Graham Mercer, showing millions of dollars funneled into offshore bank accounts. Attached to the back page was a folded, yellowed piece of paper—a typed letter detailing the coordinates of the warehouse fire, dated three days before the fire actually happened.
It was the murder blueprint.
May you like
Suddenly, the doorknob jiggled violently.
"I know someone is in there," a voice hissed from the hallway. It was Graham.
