Blackmail

Arthur disappeared into the kitchen, his footsteps fading against the polished tile. Elena stood frozen in the hallway, the taste of rust and ozone still sharp on her tongue. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs—not from fear, but from the sudden, terrifying clarity of the threat.

*In his tea.*

Leo had a routine. Every night before bed, he drank a cup of chamomile with honey. Victoria called it a "gentleman's habit," but Elena knew it was just a way to settle his ADHD without medication. It was safe. Comforting.

And now it was a weapon.

She needed to get to the kitchen. But the service corridor was a choke point. Staff were moving in and out, carrying trays of canapés, shouting orders about the champagne. If she walked in there, she’d be spotted in seconds.

She looked at the study door Arthur had just exited.

It was ajar.

She slipped inside. The room was dark, illuminated only by the dying embers in the fireplace. The smell of Arthur's expensive cologne lingered in the air, masking the scent of old books and leather.

She crossed to the desk. It was cluttered with papers—transfer deeds, trust amendments, the wreckage of her family's future laid out in triplicate.

But her eyes were drawn to the computer monitor. It was awake, the screen glowing with a live feed from the security cameras.

Arthur was monitoring the estate.

She scanned the grid. The front gate, crowded with limousines. The ballroom, filling with guests. The service entrance.

And the kitchen.

She saw Arthur there. He was standing by the industrial kettle, his back to the camera. He was talking to a maid, a young girl Elena didn't recognize. He handed her a tray. On it was a single, delicate porcelain cup.

The maid nodded, taking the tray. She turned and walked toward the service elevator.

Elena tracked her on the monitors. Camera 4: Service Hallway. Camera 5: Second Floor Landing.

The maid was heading to the nursery wing. To Leo.

Elena had to intercept her.

She looked at the study window. It opened onto the terrace, but there were guards patrolling the lawn.

She looked at the ceiling. The old dumbwaiter.

It was in the corner, behind a velvet curtain. It had been sealed off years ago when Leo tried to ride it, but the shaft still connected the study to the upper floors.

She pulled the curtain back. The small wooden door was painted shut.

She grabbed a heavy brass letter opener from the desk. She jammed it into the seam, leaning her weight into it.

The paint cracked. The wood groaned.

*Snap.*

The door popped open.

The shaft was dark, smelling of dust and grease. The ropes hung slack, the car itself resting at the bottom.

She couldn't ride it. But she could climb.

The service ladder was built into the side of the shaft, iron rungs bolted into the brick.

She took off her heels. She tied them together by the straps and hung them around her neck.

She climbed into the shaft.

It was tight. Claustrophobic. The velvet dress snagged on the rough brick, tearing at the hem. She didn't care. She climbed, hand over hand, her breath shallow and fast.

First floor. She could hear the hum of the party through the wall, the laughter of the guests who were celebrating her destruction.

Second floor.

She reached the small door that opened into the nursery pantry. She pushed against it.

Locked.

She pushed harder. She kicked it with her bare foot.

"Come on," she whispered.

She braced her back against the ladder and shoved with both legs.

The latch gave way with a splintering crack. The door swung open.

She tumbled out onto the pantry floor, gasping for air.

She was in the nursery wing.

She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pain in her ribs. She ran into the hallway.

The maid was there. She was standing outside Leo's door, balancing the tray on one hand while she knocked.

"Master Leo?" the maid called softly. "Mr. Pendelton sent your tea."

"No!" Elena screamed.

The maid jumped, nearly dropping the tray. She turned, her eyes widening as she saw Elena—disheveled, barefoot, covered in soot and drywall dust.

"Mrs. St. Clair?" the maid stammered. "I... I thought you were..."

"Don't give him that," Elena said, advancing on her. "Put it down."

"But Mr. Pendelton said..."

"Put it down!"

Elena grabbed the tray. The cup rattled against the saucer. The tea sloshed over the rim, steaming and fragrant.

She sniffed it. Chamomile. Honey. And something else. Something bitter and chemical beneath the sweetness.

"Get out," Elena said to the maid. "Go downstairs. Tell no one you saw me."

The maid didn't argue. She ran.

Elena looked at the door. Leo was inside. He was safe. For now.

But she couldn't stay. Arthur would know the maid had failed. He would check the cameras. He would send security.

She needed to get Leo out. She needed to get to the helicopter.

She opened the door.

The room was dark. The only light came from the nightlight in the corner—a glowing globe of the earth.

"Leo?" she whispered.

No answer.

She walked to the bed. A lump was under the covers.

"Leo, wake up. We have to go."

She pulled back the duvet.

The bed was empty. Pillows arranged to look like a body.

She spun around.

"Sophie?"

She checked the closet. The bathroom. Under the bed.

Empty.

They were gone.

She ran to the window. It looked out over the back lawn.

Down below, near the old stables, she saw movement. Flashlight beams cutting through the dark.

A group of people was moving toward the helipad.

Arthur. Two guards.

And two small figures, being half-carried, half-dragged.

They weren't waiting for 10:00 PM. They were leaving now.

Elena gripped the windowsill, her knuckles white. She had the drive. She had the proof. But it was useless if they were gone.

She looked at the tea tray on the dresser. At the poisoned cup.

Arthur had sent it to stall her. To make her think she had time.

He had played her. Again.

But he hadn't won yet.

She turned and ran for the door. She didn't care about the cameras. She didn't care about the guards.

She had to get to the stables.

But as she reached the stairs, she stopped.

Voices. Coming from the master suite.

Victoria's room.

"It's done," Arthur's voice said. He wasn't outside. He was on the radio. "The package is secure."

"And the mother?" Victoria asked.

"She's in the house," Arthur said. "I saw her on the monitors. She took the bait."

Elena pressed herself against the wall. They were in the bedroom. Right next to her.

"Good," Victoria said. "Let her run around in the dark. By the time she figures it out, we'll be in the air."

"What about the file?" Arthur asked. "The recording."

"It's handled," Victoria said. "I deleted it from the server myself."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Victoria said. "But just in case... I kept a copy."

Elena froze. A copy.

"Why?" Arthur asked, his voice sharp.

"Leverage, Arthur," Victoria said. "In case you ever decide that I'm a liability too."

Arthur laughed. "You always were sentimental."

"It's in the safe," Victoria said. "With the jewelry. Bring it with us."

Elena looked at the door to the master suite.

The children were being loaded onto a helicopter. But the evidence... the one thing that could destroy Victoria... was ten feet away.

She had to choose.

Chase the children and risk losing them to an armed guard.

Or get the drive, get the proof, and end this war forever.

She looked at the stairs. Then at the door.

She made her choice.

Arthur had been blackmailing her since 1996. He owned her.