Chapter 3 - The Underground Wing
I grabbed Martin by his collar and dragged him forcefully behind a heavy oak pillar.
Blood bloomed rapidly across the shoulder of his white shirt, but he was miraculously still breathing.
I peered around the edge of the wood and saw three armed men in black tactical gear sweeping the lower foyer.
My mother had not just hired security; she had employed a private mercenary force to guard her secrets.
"The old servant tunnels," Martin gasped, clutching his bleeding shoulder.
He pointed a shaking finger toward a hidden panel behind a massive oil painting of my grandfather.
I hoisted Martin onto his feet and practically carried him across the alcove while the guards were distracted by the destroyed west wing door.
I pressed the concealed wooden switch, and the heavy wall swung inward, revealing a damp, stone staircase.
We slipped inside the secret passage just as a flashlight beam swept across our previous hiding spot.
I pulled the door shut, plunging us into near absolute darkness.
"They do not know about these tunnels," Martin whispered, leaning heavily against my side as we descended deep beneath the mansion.
The air grew steadily colder, smelling strongly of antiseptic and bleach.
At the bottom of the stairs, a heavy steel door stood slightly ajar, spilling harsh fluorescent light onto the stone floor.
I left Martin resting against the wall and crept toward the opening.
The secret room was a fully equipped, state-of-the-art medical laboratory.
There were incubators, surgical tables, and rows of locked filing cabinets lining the pristine white walls.
I walked over to a metal desk in the center of the room, my eyes immediately drawn to a thick manila folder resting on top.
The name Grace Caldwell was printed boldly on the front label.
My hands shook violently as I flipped the cover open to read the primary medical assessment.
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The red ink stamp across the first page made my heart completely stop.
It read, in bold capital letters: DECEASED.
