PART 17 — THE LION'S DEN
PART 17 — THE LION'S DEN
The Prescott estate looked different in the dark. Once a symbol of wealth and power. Now, it looked like a tomb. The gates were rusted. The security was minimal. They had fired most of the staff to save money. I drove my truck through the service entrance. I turned off the headlights. “Wait here,” I told Emily. “No,” she said. “I’m going in. It’s my ghost to face.” I looked at her. I saw the resolve in her eyes. I handed her a heavy flashlight. We walked through the overgrown gardens. To the guest house. The place where they had kept her. Where they had taken her phone. Where they had threatened her life. The door was locked. I kicked it in. The wood splintered. A military breach. Simple and effective. Inside, the air was stale. Emily walked straight to the fireplace. Above it hung an oil portrait of the late Prescott patriarch. She reached behind the heavy frame. Her fingers searched the dust. A sharp tear of tape. She pulled her hand back. A small, silver key rested in her palm. She looked at it. Then she looked around the room that had once been her prison. “It doesn’t look so scary anymore,” she whispered. “Because you aren’t afraid anymore,” I said. Headlights swept across the front window. A car pulled up the driveway. Heavy footsteps echoed on the porch. Brandon Prescott stood in the broken doorway. He was not smiling. “You,” he spat. He had two men with him. Muscle. Hired thugs. He looked at the key in Emily’s hand. And he panicked.
