Chapter 4 - The Cold Touch of Steel
The heavy oak doors of the grand foyer swung open with a resounding bang that reverberated through the stone halls.
Heavy tactical boots stamped across the marble floor.
Five state troopers fanned out across the grand entrance, their holstered weapons secured but their hands resting near their hips.
At the front walked Detective Samuel Grant.
He was a man in his late fifties, sporting close-cropped iron-gray hair, a tailored charcoal trench coat, and cold, calculating eyes.
He held an amber-colored evidence folder in his left hand.
Beside him walked Arthur Pendelton, the senior legal counsel for the DeMarco family, who had arrived from the guest wing just in time.
Ryan DeMarco stepped forward into the salon, his posture relaxed but radiating dangerous authority.
"Detective Grant," Ryan said smoothly.
"You seem to have forgotten how to use the gate intercom."
Grant did not smile.
"Exigent circumstances, Mr. DeMarco."
"A signed felony search warrant regarding stolen state property."
Pendelton adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and tapped the paperwork.
"This warrant is suspiciously narrow, Detective."
"It specifies the domestic staff living quarters in the north wing of the estate."
"My client's personal business records are entirely excluded."
Grant turned his head slowly, his eyes bypassing Ryan and landing squarely on Emma Reed.
"Emma Reed," Grant said, his tone dropping into a practiced, authoritative rhythm.
Emma swallowed hard and stood her ground beside Rose's chair.
"Yes."
"You are named as a person of interest in the ongoing recovery of classified internal affairs files," Grant stated.
"I have worked here for three weeks," Emma said, keeping her chin up.
"I don't know what files you are talking about."
Grant gestured to two officers behind him.
"Room 14, north service hall."
"Execute the search."
Emma felt a heavy stone drop into her stomach.
"Room 14 is my bedroom."
Ryan stepped into the path of the officers.
"My attorney accompanies your men into that room."
"Every drawer opened will be documented on video."
Grant gave a tight, indifferent nod.
"By all means."
Ten agonizing minutes passed in absolute silence.
The only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the foyer clock and the muffled sounds of footsteps on the floor above.
Leonard Shaw stood quietly in the corner, his toxicologist case tucked behind his legs.
The two troopers returned down the grand staircase.
The lead officer carried an amber evidence bag sealed with yellow tamper tape.
Inside the bag lay an aged, heavy-duty military-grade flash drive with worn metal edges.
Across the front of the drive, written in faded black marker, were the initials: D. R. — 2006.
Emma felt the air leave her lungs.
"That was not in my room," Emma whispered, her voice trembling with indignation.
"I unpacked three shirts, two pairs of slacks, and a pair of maternity shoes."
"I have never owned that drive."
Detective Grant held up the bag with a faint smirk playing on his thin lips.
"Recovered from the interior lining of your winter coat in the wardrobe."
"Possession of stolen state materials linked to an active federal investigation."
"You're coming downtown, Ms. Reed."
Ryan stepped directly into Grant's personal space, towering over the detective.
"Nobody is taking an employee from this estate on planted evidence."
"The seals on that bag were broken before your men even climbed the stairs."
Grant looked Ryan in the eye without blinking.
"Interfering with a felony warrant carries immediate obstruction charges, Mr. DeMarco."
"Even for you."
From behind the mahogany table, Rose DeMarco spoke up, her voice slicing through the room like a razor.
"Samuel."
Detective Grant froze for a fraction of a second.
He slowly shifted his gaze toward the elderly woman.
"Mrs. DeMarco."
"You still have the same habit of looking at the floor when you're manufacturing an arrest," Rose said with a cold, venomous smile.
"The last time I saw you, you were a junior detective standing on the rain-soaked docks in 2006."
"You were the one who signed the death notification paperwork for Daniel Reed."
Grant’s expression hardened into granite.
"Daniel Reed was an unfortunate casualty of an industrial collapse."
"Then why," Rose asked, raising one bony finger, "did the triage log at Saint Jude’s Memorial show Daniel Reed being discharged into your custody six hours after his official time of death?"
The room turned utterly silent.
Grant’s eyes twitched.
Emma stared at the detective, her hands gripping her stomach as if she were trying to shield her unborn child from the truth.
"My father survived?" Emma whispered.
Grant did not answer Emma.
Instead, his gaze flicked involuntarily toward the dining table.
He looked directly at the silver tureens of tomato marinara.
Just for half a second.
A brief, calculating glance to see why the people in the room were still standing on their feet.
Ryan caught the glance instantly.
May you like
"You knew about the dinner," Ryan whispered, his voice turning deadly cold.
"You expected to find this entire family unconscious on the floor."
