I came home early and found my housekeeper’s three-year-old daughter standing barefoot on a stool, scrubbing one of my custom-made shirts in freezing water. Her tiny hands were red and swollen, but she refused to stop because she believed her sick mother would lose her job if the stain remained. Everyone in my house feared my temper—but when that little girl looked at me and whispered, “If Mama loses this job, we won’t have a home,” I was suddenly eight years old again.

The corrupt police captain turned around and glared at me with absolute fury.

He shoved his gun back into his holster and demanded to know where I had hidden the housekeeper.

I maintained a perfectly blank expression, silently thanking my doctor for his incredible quick thinking.

My estate was originally built in the 1920s by a notorious bootlegger during the Prohibition era.

The mansion was secretly wired with a network of hidden tunnels leading deep into the surrounding forest.

I had shown the doctor the hidden entrance years ago during a private medical emergency.

I casually told the captain that my staff was free to come and go as they pleased.

Harland’s smug demeanor cracked, his eyes darting frantically around the empty bedroom.

He knew his flawless blackmail plan was rapidly falling apart.

The captain ordered his officers to search the entire perimeter of the sprawling estate with tracking dogs.

I knew I had very little time before the hounds picked up Elena’s scent in the woods.

I demanded that the police leave my house until they found actual evidence of a crime.

Since they had found absolutely no drugs, the captain was legally forced to pull his men outside.

As soon as the front doors closed, Harland dropped his fake innocent act.

He pulled a suppressed pistol from his tailored suit jacket and aimed it squarely at my chest.

He told me I was a fool for interfering with business matters that did not concern me.

He demanded I take him to the secret tunnels immediately so he could finish the job.

I slowly raised my hands, pretending to completely surrender to his lethal threat.

I led him down into the wine cellar, where a heavy stone wall concealed the primary escape route.

I pressed the hidden lever, and the heavy stones slowly ground open to reveal the dark passageway.

Harland stepped forward, pushing the barrel of his gun hard into my spine.

He commanded me to walk into the darkness first.

Instead, I slammed my elbow backward directly into his nose with bone-crushing force.

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Harland stumbled backward, but a deafening gunshot suddenly echoed through the cellar.

I looked down and saw a dark red stain rapidly spreading across the left side of my expensive white shirt.

Chapter 4 - The Secret Tunnels