Chapter 3 - The Lockdown
Within three minutes, the heavy steel security shutters of Blackwood Manor dropped into place with loud, mechanical thuds across every window and door, sealing the sprawling cliffside estate like an impenetrable fortress.
Sirens wailed softly in the distance as the private estate paramedics rushed through the shattered conservatory doors, immediately kneeling beside Clara Jenkins. They worked with rapid, practiced efficiency, stabilizing her neck, placing an oxygen mask over her face, and lifting her onto a trauma stretcher.
Julian stood motionless near the shattered mirror, watching them wheel Clara away. His mind was racing at a terrifying velocity, replaying Clara’s four-word warning over and over again: He is still down.
David.
His brother, David.
Six years ago, David Sterling had vanished into the churning black waters beneath the Blackwood cliffs. The police report had ruled it an accidental drowning—he had been intoxicated after a heated argument with Julian over the management of the family trust. They had found his wallet on the rocky shore, his car keys on the cliff path, and his monogrammed signet ring caught in a tide pool.
There had been no body recovered. Just an empty grave in the family plot, a marble headstone bearing a name, and a silence that had haunted Julian every single day since.
Until tonight.
“Mr. Sterling?”
Julian turned his head. Head of Security Marcus Vance—a towering, broad-shouldered ex-marine with a permanent scar across his left jaw—stood at attention near the doorway. Behind him, two armed security guards blocked the exit.
“The perimeter is completely secured, sir,” Marcus reported tersely, avoiding eye contact with Cynthia, who was still huddled near the orchids, sobbing softly. “No vehicles have left the estate in the last two hours. All internal cameras are being backed up to the main server right now.”
“Good,” Julian said coldly. He pointed at Cynthia. “Escort Miss Vance to the main library. Lock her inside. Do not let her use a phone, a computer, or speak to anyone. If she so much as touches a doorknob, I want to know immediately.”
“Julian, please!” Cynthia shrieked, bursting into theatrical tears as two guards stepped forward to take her arms. “You can’t do this to me! I’m your fiancée! That old woman attacked me! She went crazy! You’re listening to a demented servant over the woman you’re going to marry!”
“Take her,” Julian commanded, his voice devoid of any human warmth.
Marcus nodded. The guards gripped Cynthia’s arms firmly—though respectfully—and guided her out of the conservatory, her frantic protests echoing down the marble hallway until the heavy oak doors shut behind them.
Julian picked up his Sig Sauer from the floor, tucked it securely into the waistband of his trousers, and turned to Marcus.
“Marcus, I want every security footage file from the night David disappeared six years ago,” Julian said, his eyes burning with an intense, frightening resolve. “And I want every security log from the last three years in this house. Every camera angle. Every server backup.”
Marcus frowned, his brow furrowing in deep confusion. “Mr. Sterling... the police already seized those archives six years ago during the investigation. The local precinct has the hard drives.”
Julian’s lips parted into a grim, humorless smile.
“Marcus,” Julian whispered, stepping close to his security chief. “Do you really think my father built Blackwood Manor without a secondary, unlisted, military-grade surveillance network that the local police don't know about?”
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Marcus’s eyes widened slightly. “The Black-Site archive servers in the sub-basement.”
“Fetch the decryption keys,” Julian ordered. “We are going to find out what really happened to my brother. And then, we are going to find out what Clara Jenkins walked in on tonight.”
