Chapter 4 - The Traitor’s Tea
The private study on the third floor of the mansion was lit only by the low embers of the marble fireplace.
Meredith Shaw sat in a high-backed leather armchair, clutching a glass of white wine in her manicured hand. She was thirty-eight, dressed in an expensive cashmere sweater and pearl earrings, her posture regal and unimpressed.
Standing near the doorway was Vance—Declan’s chief of security—a tall, silent man with a scarred jaw and a suppressed sidearm visible beneath his armpit.
When the oak doors opened and Declan walked in, Meredith set her wine glass down with a delicate click.
“Declan, what is the meaning of this theater?” Meredith demanded, her voice laced with sharp aristocratic irritation. “Your guards dragged me out of my guest suite at three in the morning. Has another one of the girls’ hysterical fits broken out?”
Declan didn't answer. He walked slowly across the room, his heavy leather boots silent against the Persian rug.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the black ultrasonic transmitter, and set it on the glass coffee table directly in front of her.
The tiny red light was still blinking.
Meredith’s eyes flickered toward the device for a fraction of a second. Her fingers tightened imperceptibly around her pearl necklace, but her face remained a mask of practiced innocence.
“What is that electronic junk?” she asked, looking up at him with a slight frown. “Did Vance find another bug planted by the Moretti family?”
“It was inside the Belgian teddy bear, Meredith,” Declan said softly.
The room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Meredith stared at her brother, her chest rising and falling slightly faster. “I... I don't know what you’re talking about. The boutique in Brussels certified that toy—”
“There is no boutique in Brussels,” Declan interrupted, leaning forward until his face was inches from hers. “I had my intelligence team trace the serial code on the transmitter five minutes ago. It was purchased through a shell company registered in Delaware. A company owned by your husband, Julian.”
Meredith swallowed hard, her haughty defense beginning to crack around the edges. “Declan... Julian buys electronics for the shipping yards all the time, he—”
“Fifty-six nights, Meredith,” Declan whispered, his voice trembling with a dark, suppressed fury that made Vance instinctively step back toward the door. “Fifty-six nights my daughters woke up screaming in physical pain. They were terrified of the dark. They were begging for their mother.”
“They are children!” Meredith snapped, her composure suddenly shattering into ugly, raw venom. “They would have recovered! You were losing your mind, Declan! You were ruining the family business over your dead wife!”
Declan didn't hit her. He didn't shout. He simply stared at his sister as if looking at a stranger.
“Where is the receiver, Meredith?” Declan asked quietly.
Meredith sneered, tilting her chin up defiance. “Do you really think I kept it on the property? Julian has the master recordings on a cloud server in New York. The board of directors is receiving the psychological evaluation report at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. You’re finished, Declan. You can’t stop it.”
Declan pulled a small black remote control from his pocket and pressed a button.
The heavy flat-screen television mounted above the fireplace clicked on.
On the screen was a live security feed from a dark parking lot five miles away. Julian—Meredith’s husband—was pinned face-down against the hood of a black sedan, his hands bound behind his back in heavy steel cuffs, surrounded by four of Declan’s tactical operatives.
In the hands of the lead operator was a silver laptop case.
Meredith’s breath hitched in her throat. She stood up so fast her wine glass overturned, spilling red liquid across the pale carpet like blood.
“Julian was picked up ten minutes ago outside the local broadcast tower,” Declan said, his voice cold as liquid ice. “He was attempting to manually upload the audio files to the board’s server. We have the laptop, Meredith. We have the server keys. And we have your husband’s confession.”
Meredith collapsed back into the armchair, her face draining of all color.
“You... you can't put me in prison,” she stammered, her voice turning pathetic and small. “I’m your sister, Declan... I’m a Shaw!”
Declan turned his back on her, walking toward the door.
May you like
“You’re not my sister,” Declan said without looking back. “You’re just another threat to my children. And I eliminate threats.”
He looked at Vance. “Put her in the wine cellar storage room under armed guard. Nobody speaks to her until the police arrive at sunrise.”
