Chapter 4 - The Setup
Declan reached up and pressed the intercom button. His voice was steady, betraying none of the agony he was in. “I dropped a paperweight, Mrs. Gable. Return to bed.” There was a slight pause on the other end. “Very well, sir. Goodnight.”
The intercom clicked off. Sophia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “She was checking to see if you were dead,” she whispered. “Yes.” Declan stood up, wincing as his side stretched. Sophia immediately moved to support him, helping him into the massive bed and pulling the heavy duvet over him. “You need to rest,” she said. “I need a gun.” “I’ll get it.” She went to his office, retrieved the Sig Sauer from the drawer, and placed it on his nightstand. “Sleep,” she ordered. “I’ll sit by the door.” “You don’t have to do that.” “I’m not losing my investment, Mr. Walsh. If you die, Sullivan’s goons might come back for me.” It was a joke, but it fell flat in the heavy air. Declan closed his eyes and told her to stay in the room. She locked the door, dragged a chair against it, and didn't sleep a wink.
The next morning, the house was a hive of quiet chaos. Declan remained in his room claiming a severe migraine, while Sophia acted as the gatekeeper, allowing no one into the secured wing. At noon, Mrs. Gable knocked on the outer oak door holding a silver tray of tea. Sophia opened it just a crack. “Mr. Walsh asked for his tea,” Mrs. Gable said, her eyes darting over Sophia’s shoulder, trying to peer into the hallway. “I’ll take it,” Sophia said, reaching for the tray. Mrs. Gable held on for a second too long. “Is he quite alright? He usually takes his meetings on Fridays.” “He’s fine. Just resting.”
Mrs. Gable released the tray with a thin, cruel smile. “Such a dedicated assistant. Tell me, Miss Reed, does Mr. Walsh know about your continued correspondence with Tommy Sullivan?” Sophia felt the blood drain from her face. “What are you talking about?” “A letter arrived for you yesterday. I accidentally opened it. It seems Mr. Sullivan is under the impression you owe him a favor, now that your financial debt is cleared. Something about passing along information regarding the Walsh estate?” “That’s a lie.” “Is it? It’s sitting on my desk downstairs. I imagine Mr. Walsh wouldn’t be too happy to find out his new pet is a rat.” Mrs. Gable turned and walked away, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
Sophia closed the door, her hands shaking so badly the teacup rattled against the saucer. She walked back into Declan’s room, where he was sitting up, reading a tablet. “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately. She could lie, or she could try to find and destroy the letter, but she remembered why she was here. She set the tray down and told him everything. “She claims she has a letter from Tommy Sullivan. She’s trying to frame me as the leak.”
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Declan’s expression didn’t change; he didn’t yell or look betrayed. He just looked thoughtful. “Sullivan works with the O’Connors,” he said quietly. “He’s a mid-level supplier for them. If Mrs. Gable is communicating with him, she’s the one leaking my routes.” “Declan, she’s going to show it to Finn. The rest of the crew won’t care about the truth. They’ll see a former maid who owed money to a rival, and they’ll put a bullet in my head before you can stop them.”
Declan swung his legs over the side of the bed. He winced, but his eyes were entirely focused. “Get Marcus on the secure line,” he ordered. “You’re hurt—” “Do it, Sophia. We’re out of time.” Sophia grabbed the phone. The game had just accelerated, and she was the bait.
