Chapter 2 - The Six Who Kept the Cipher
The hydraulic hum of heavy blast shutters echoed through the stone foundations.
Steel plates dropped over every window of the third-floor estate.
The mansion shuddered as the exterior perimeter sealed itself off from the storm.
Footsteps hurried along the flagstone hallway of the sub-basement.
Marcus Vance appeared in the doorway of the pantry.
The head of security wore tactical trousers and a dark Kevlar vest.
His sidearm was already drawn.
Behind him stood two armed guards from the private night detail.
Marcus halted the moment he saw the corpse on the floor.
His gaze shifted from the dead man to Roman.
Then his eyes landed on Claire Bennett.
"Jesus Christ, boss."
"Step inside and close the corridor door," Roman ordered.
Marcus signaled the two guards to remain outside in the hallway.
He entered and pushed the heavy oak door shut.
"Who is he?"
"You tell me," Roman said smoothly.
Marcus knelt beside the dead operative.
He pulled back the man's collar to inspect the skin.
"No identification."
"Look at his left wrist," Roman said.
Marcus pulled back the tactical glove.
A faint blue tattoo of an anchor crossed with a dagger showed beneath the pale skin.
"Black Sea maritime security," Marcus muttered.
"Private contractors."
"The kind hired for covert asset recovery," Roman said.
Marcus looked up, his brow furrowed.
"How did he breach the exterior line?"
"He didn't breach it."
Roman pointed to the illuminated tool plugged into the wall.
"He had the algorithmic key for the East Gate."
Marcus stiffened visibly.
"That cipher is rotated every thirty days."
"I know."
"Only six people carry the active algorithm."
"Name them, Marcus."
Marcus swallowed, his jaw tightening.
"You, Mr. Vale."
"Go on."
"Mrs. Eleanor Vale."
"My mother," Roman said coldly.
"Harrison Reed."
"My chief financial officer and foster brother."
"Dr. Laura Chen."
"My personal physician who handles my security clearances."
"Myself," Marcus said, his voice dropping an octave.
"And one remaining archive key," Roman said.
Marcus did not want to speak the sixth name.
"The archive key assigned to Julian's trust."
"The dead man's trust," Roman said.
Claire stood against the stone wall, watching Marcus's hands.
She noticed the slight twitch in the security chief's right thumb.
Roman noticed it too.
"Marcus, how long have you managed my estate?"
"Seven years, sir."
"Did my brother ever contact you after the yacht explosion?"
"Julian is dead, Mr. Vale."
"Answer the question."
"Never."
Roman stared at him for five unbroken seconds.
"Bag this weapon and isolate that bypass hardware."
"Understood."
"No one touches this room until my private forensics team arrives from Boston."
"What about the staff?" Marcus asked.
"Gather every person currently sleeping in the house."
"The family too?"
"Harrison is staying in the west guest suite tonight."
"And your mother is in the south wing," Marcus added.
"Assemble all of them in the grand library in thirty minutes."
Marcus nodded and turned toward the door.
"What about Miss Bennett?"
Roman looked at Claire.
"Miss Bennett will come with me to the study."
Marcus lingered for a second before opening the door.
"She took down an armed contractor alone, Mr. Vale."
"I am aware."
"That takes considerable training."
"I am aware of that as well."
Marcus stepped out into the hallway and barked orders to his guards.
Roman turned to Claire.
"Follow me."
They climbed the stairs back into the residential wings.
The house was entirely silent except for the muffled roar of the wind.
Every heavy mahogany door was closed.
Roman unlocked the double doors to his private study on the third floor.
He motioned for her to enter.
He closed the doors behind them and engaged the deadbolt.
The room was lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves.
A fire burned low in the wide brick hearth.
Roman walked behind his desk but did not sit down.
"Sit, Claire."
Claire remained standing near the leather armchair.
"I would rather stand, sir."
"Look at your hands."
Claire looked down.
Her fingers were steady.
They were not shaking.
A maid who had just killed an armed assassin in cold blood should have been shaking violently.
"You struck him with a stoneware jar," Roman said.
"Yes."
"A jar of dried rosemary weighs less than two pounds."
"It was heavy enough."
"A man wearing Kevlar does not drop a combat blade from a two-pound strike to the forearm."
Claire did not blink.
"He was startled."
"Unless you struck the radial nerve cluster at the wrist."
Claire remained silent.
"The angle of the broken neck bracket on that shelf was precisely four feet from the floor."
Roman leaned forward over the desk.
"To drive a man of his mass downward into that steel edge requires a leverage throw."
"I pushed him in blind terror, Mr. Vale."
"You executed an over-the-shoulder hip toss."
Claire's jaw tightened slightly.
"Believe what you wish."
"Who trained you, Claire Bennett?"
"My father was a state trooper in Maine."
"Your file said he was a carpenter."
"My file was written by an agency that wanted me hired."
Roman walked around the perimeter of the desk until he stood inches from her.
"Did Julian send you into my house six months ago?"
Claire looked directly into his dark eyes.
"I have never spoken a word to Julian Vale in my life."
"Then why did that man give you his message?"
"Because he assumed I was the inside asset."
Roman frowned.
"Explain."
"He did not know who was waiting in the pantry."
Claire's voice was sharp, deliberate, and entirely devoid of fear.
"He was told an asset inside this house would meet him at the junction box."
Roman's eyes narrowed.
"He thought you were the traitor."
May you like
"Yes," Claire whispered.
"And the real traitor is currently sleeping under this roof."
