Chapter 5 - The Drawing Room Inquisition and the First Confession
The grand drawing room of the DeLuca manor looked less like a gathering space for estate administrators and more like a military tribunal.
The heavy velvet drapes were drawn shut against the gloomy October morning, and the massive crystal chandelier cast a harsh, brilliant light over the mahogany conference table where eight terrified estate managers, accountants, and security contractors sat in rigid silence.
Standing at the head of the table was Roman DeLuca.
He had washed the worst of the soot from his face, but the severe burns across his shoulders and arms were clearly visible through a fresh, unbuttoned black dress shirt.
His hands rested flat on the polished mahogany surface, his dark eyes sweeping slowly over the assembled staff like a executioner inspecting his row of blocks.
Behind him, standing near the towering marble fireplace, Arthur Vance stood with his arms crossed, holding a thick manila folder containing the digital access logs retrieved from the basement terminal.
To Roman’s right stood Nora Ellis, her hair washed and brushed, wearing a spare blouse provided by the head housekeeper, holding a sleeping, emotionally exhausted Maisie wrapped in a thick wool blanket against her chest.
Nobody spoke.
The only sound in the room was the heavy, rhythmic ticking of the antique grandfather clock near the library doors.
“Let’s review the facts,” Roman began, his voice terrifyingly calm, devoid of any shouting or theatrical rage.
“At 4:15 this morning, the perimeter cameras covering the western garden were placed on a twenty-minute loop using a level-four administrator override code.”
Roman leaned forward slightly, resting his weight on his knuckles.
“There are only four people in this entire estate who possess a level-four administrator code. Me. Arthur. Head of Accounting Marcus Vance. And my chief of administrative operations, Julian Cross.”
At the mention of his name, Julian Cross—a tall, impeccably groomed man in his late forties with wire-rimmed glasses and an expensive Italian suit—flinched slightly.
He adjusted his cuffs, forcing a thin, nervous smile onto his face.
“Surely, Roman, you aren't suggesting—?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Julian,” Roman cut him off, his voice dropping into a lethal register.
“I’m stating a mathematical certainty. One of those four codes was used to turn off the sprinklers, lock the shed door from the outside, and provide an extraction route for the hit squad.”
Julian swallowed hard, casting a desperate glance toward the other managers sitting around the table.
“My code hasn't been used in weeks,” Julian protested, his voice pitching slightly upward.
“Ask Marcus. Ask the accountants. I was asleep in my quarters until the alarms woke me up.”
“Your code hasn't been used from your terminal, Julian,” Arthur Vance interjected quietly, stepping forward and dropping a printed digital audit sheet onto the table in front of Julian.
“It was accessed from the secondary terminal in the estate’s underground maintenance garage. At exactly 3:45 a.m. Using a physical keycard assigned exclusively to your name.”
Julian stared down at the paper as if it were a venomous snake.
The color vanished from his cheeks, leaving him looking gray, hollowed out, and entirely cornered.
“That’s... that’s circumstantial,” Julian stammered, his polished corporate demeanor finally shattering completely.
“Anyone could have stolen my keycard! Anyone could have walked into the garage!”
“Except for one tiny detail, Julian,” Roman said, walking slowly around the mahogany table until he stopped directly behind Julian’s chair.
Roman leaned down, his face inches from the terrified administrator’s ear.
“The maintenance garage camera wasn't on the loop. It recorded every second of the man who walked down there, used your keycard, and downloaded the override protocol.”
Roman placed a heavy, scarred hand on Julian’s shoulder, pressing down with just enough force to make the man wince in pain.
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“So I’ll ask you once, Julian. And if you lie to me, I won't let Arthur shoot you in the legs.”
Roman’s voice dropped to a terrifying whisper.
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