Chapter 8 - The Mole in the Mason Empire
By late afternoon, the tension inside the Buckhead mansion had shifted from external defense to internal interrogation.
Dominic sat behind his massive desk in the study, flanked by Marcus and three senior technical security operators.
Every electronic device, landline connection, and encrypted server within the property was undergoing an exhaustive forensic audit.
“Gallo knew about the fever within hours of my temperature spiking,” Dominic said, his voice deadly quiet.
“Only six people on this estate had physical access to the main residence between midnight and dawn,” Marcus said, laying a printed roster on the desk.
The list included Nancy Price, two night-shift interior security guards, the estate groundskeeper, the private chef, and Megan Foster.
Megan stood near the mahogany bookcase, holding a stack of freshly laundered linen towels, having refused to sit idly in the safe room once the immediate danger had passed.
“We know Ms. Foster didn’t leak anything; she spent the entire night holding ice packs against your forehead,” Marcus noted, glancing at Megan with newfound respect.
“Nancy has been with my family since I was seven years old; her loyalty is beyond question,” Dominic stated firmly.
“That leaves the two interior perimeter guards, Miller and Harris, and the groundskeeper, Thomas,” Marcus concluded, tapping the paper.
Dominic tapped his fingers rhythmically against the armrest of his chair, analyzing the operational patterns of each suspect.
“Miller has worked the night shift for four years without a single disciplinary infraction,” Dominic murmured thoughtfully.
“Harris transferred from our downtown commercial division three months ago,” Marcus added, flipping open a personnel file.
Megan stepped forward, setting the basket of towels down on a side table near the monitors.
“Can I look at the physical maintenance log from yesterday afternoon?” Megan asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the men’s conversation.
Marcus frowned, looking at her with mild skepticism.
“Ms. Foster, with all due respect, our cybersecurity team is analyzing encrypted data streams that require high-level clearance,” Marcus said dismissively.
“I don’t know anything about encrypted data streams, Mr. Security Chief,” Megan replied sharply, her eyes narrowing.
“But I know about human filth, trash cans, and who uses which utility closets,” Megan pointed out defiantly.
Dominic raised a single hand, instantly silencing Marcus before the security chief could object further.
“Let her speak, Marcus,” Dominic commanded, his eyes fixed on Megan’s face.
Megan walked over to the desk, leaning over the glossy walnut surface without an ounce of hesitation.
“Yesterday at four in the afternoon, while I was restocking cleaning solvents in the basement utility room, someone used the private landline in the maintenance corridor,” Megan explained.
“That landline is supposed to be deactivated for outgoing public calls,” Marcus noted, his eyebrows shooting up.
“The brass indicator light on the wall unit was blinking amber, which means an outbound relay was active,” Megan said, pointing toward the floor plans displayed on the screen.
“How do you know that?” Dominic asked, fascinated by her razor-sharp eye for practical detail.
“My father was a master electrician for twenty-five years before he passed away,” Megan answered quietly. “I spent my childhood handing him tools and watching how communication panels work.”
“Did you see who was standing near the terminal?” Marcus asked urgently, leaning over the desk.
“I didn’t see his face because he had his back turned to the doorway, but he was wearing standard tactical boots with red pull-tabs on the heels,” Megan revealed.
Marcus’s face darkened with absolute fury.
“Miller and Thomas wear standard-issue black duty boots,” Marcus whispered through clenched teeth.
“Harris bought custom combat boots with red pull-tabs last week because he complained the company-issued footwear hurt his arches,” Marcus added.
Dominic closed his eyes for three long seconds, absorbing the betrayal of a man sworn to protect his inner sanctuary.
“Where is Officer Harris right now?” Dominic asked, his voice dropping into a register of terrifying calm.
“He is stationed at the south perimeter gatehouse, monitoring the secondary delivery entrance,” Marcus replied, reaching for his tactical radio.
“Do not alert him over the radio,” Dominic ordered, his eyes snapping open with lethal focus.
“Take three trusted men, approach the gatehouse on foot through the wooded path, and detain him without discharging a single firearm,” Dominic commanded.
Marcus nodded grimly, turning on his heel and sprinting out of the study to execute the order.
Megan stood by the desk, her breathing slightly elevated as she realized the gravity of what she had just uncovered.
Dominic turned his wheelchair around, looking up at the young woman who had arrived six weeks earlier with eleven dollars in her pocket.
“You have a remarkable mind, Megan Foster,” Dominic said, his baritone voice softening in the quiet room.
“I just pay attention to things that other people overlook because they’re too busy being important,” Megan replied, crossing her arms defensively.
“In my line of work, paying attention to the small details is the only difference between survival and an unmarked grave,” Dominic said.
Before Megan could reply, the desk telephone rang twice—a secure, private ringtone reserved exclusively for Marcus’s direct line.
Dominic hit the speakerphone button with the tip of his finger.
“Report, Marcus,” Dominic said into the receiver.
“We have Harris in custody in the lower holding cellar,” Marcus reported, breathing heavily.
“Did he break?” Dominic asked coldly.
“He broke in thirty seconds,” Marcus answered grimly over the line.
“Gallo offered him two hundred thousand dollars to provide updates on your physical condition and daily schedules,” Marcus explained.
“And that’s not the worst part, boss,” Marcus added, his voice dropping into a grave tone.
“What else did he tell them?” Dominic demanded, his jaw hardening.
“Harris searched the personnel files this morning after Gallo spotted the toy rattle on the terrace,” Marcus revealed.
May you like
“He transmitted Megan Foster’s full name, her old residential address, and the name of her ex-partner to Gallo’s lieutenants fifteen minutes ago,” Marcus said.
Megan gasped, her hand flying to her throat as absolute terror drained every drop of color from her face.
