Chapter 3 - The Estate Lockdown
The rain struck my face like cold needles as I sprinted down the grand gravel driveway toward the security lodge by the main iron gates. The red taillights of my rental car flickered through the downpour, but the digital keypad at the gate flashed a steady, infuriating crimson: SYSTEM LOCKED - OVERRIDE REQUIRED.
Behind me, the heavy oak doors of Caldwell House swung open again. Martin stepped out under a large black umbrella, followed closely by two private security guards hired from the city—men I didn't recognize, built like brick walls and wearing black raincoats.
“Mr. Caldwell, please don't make this difficult,” one of the guards called out, his voice carrying easily over the roar of the storm. “Mrs. Caldwell senior gave explicit instructions. No one leaves the grounds tonight.”
“I am the sole CEO of Caldwell Meridian Group!” I shouted back, wiping the rain from my eyes. “You work for me, not her!”
“Our current contract is managed by the holding trust,” the guard replied coldly, resting a heavy hand on the baton at his belt. “And the holding trust is controlled by Madam Evelyn.”
I backed away slowly toward the dense line of ancient oak trees bordering the northern edge of the property. The estate spanned over two hundred acres of dense woods, cliffs, and formal gardens. Driving out was impossible without the master keycard currently locked inside Evelyn’s private study safe, but the woods... the woods offered a path.
I turned and dove into the thick underbrush, the wet branches whipping against my jacket as I plunged deeper into the darkness.
“He’s heading for the perimeter fence!” one of the guards yelled behind me, their flashlights cutting erratic white beams through the rain-drenched trees.
I ran blindly, my lungs burning, fueled entirely by the image of Grace’s handwriting on that cold hospital wall and the realization that my newborn son was somewhere in this labyrinth of stone and steel. I knew these woods from my childhood; I knew every creek, every hidden stone wall, and every old hunting trail.
After twenty minutes of breathless scrambling through the mud, I reached the crumbling stone perimeter wall near the old boathouse by the lake. This section of the wall was hidden by thick ivy and had no motion sensors.
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With a final burst of adrenaline, I scrambled up the slick stones, hauled myself over the top, and dropped heavily into the wet grass on the other side, outside the estate limits.
I was free of the grounds, but I was three miles from the nearest town, drenched, phoneless, and completely isolated. I started running down the dark country road toward the village of Greenwich, praying I could find a phone, a car, or an ally before Evelyn’s men realized where I had gone.
