Chapter 1 - Lock the Estate
Arthur’s hand moved toward the conference-room door.
Vincent Hale reached it first.
The lock clicked under his palm, and the glass panel went dark as the privacy film activated.
Arthur looked at him. “You’re seriously locking the council in?”
“I’m locking everyone in,” Dominic said.
That distinction wiped the last trace of humor from Arthur’s face.
Dominic eased back into the chair beside the cold fireplace and held out his hand to Dr. Mercer.
“The brace.”
Mercer hesitated before passing it over.
Dominic set the orthopedic brace across his lap like a piece of evidence. The lowest retaining plate was no bigger than a thumbnail. It looked harmless.
Ellie stood pressed to Clare’s skirt.
Her wooden latch toy hung from two fingers.
Dominic tapped the silver plate once with his nail.
“Show me.”
Clare’s throat moved. “Mr. Vale, she’s four.”
“I know how old she is.”
Ellie peered up at him.
Dominic softened his voice. “Show me what was wrong.”
She shuffled forward.
Vincent turned his body slightly so he could see the council room and the hallway at the same time.
Ellie put her toy on Dominic’s knee.
It was a cheap wooden board with brass hooks, miniature hinges, a zipper, a little chain lock, and three different buckles. One corner had been sanded smooth from years of small hands.
She pressed a brass clasp.
Click.
Click.
She waited.
A softer third click came after a pause.
Ellie frowned.
“That means bad.”
Dominic looked at Clare.
Clare shook her head. “Her father made that toy.”
“Why does three mean bad?”
“I don’t know.”
Ellie touched the clasp again.
“Daddy said two means safe.”
Clare’s face changed.
It happened fast, but Dominic saw it.
Not confusion.
Memory.
He filed it away.
Mercer crouched again and examined Dominic’s brace.
He moved the plate back into its normal orientation and tightened the strap.
Click.
Click.
Nothing else.
Ellie nodded.
“Good.”
Vincent’s phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen, then at Dominic.
“Security room.”
Dominic stood carefully.
The pressure was still there, but different now. Less like a wire being pulled through his calf.
He took two steps.
Arthur watched through the glass.
So did the other five men.
Dominic pointed his cane toward them.
“Nobody leaves that room until I say so.”
Arthur pushed the door handle anyway.
It didn’t move.
His mouth tightened.
Dominic turned to Vincent. “Show me.”
They crossed the great room toward the security corridor.
Clare started after them.
Dominic glanced back.
“You too.”
Her hand tightened around Ellie’s shoulder.
“Sir, I’d rather take her upstairs.”
“I’d rather know what she saw.”
Clare looked at the locked conference room.
“Those men are going to blame her.”
“They can blame me.”
Dominic opened the security door.
Inside, twelve monitors covered the wall.
Camera feeds showed the driveway gates, service hall, kitchen, library, rehab wing, lower garage, and both staircases.
Vincent’s deputy, Mason Creed, stood from the console.
“We’ve got a problem.”
Dominic leaned on the desk.
“How original.”
Mason pulled up the previous day’s footage.
11:38 a.m.
The rehab hallway appeared empty.
11:39.
Clare crossed carrying folded towels.
11:40.
Ellie wandered into frame with her latch toy.
Clare sucked in a breath.
“I told her to stay with me.”
Ellie looked at the screen like she was watching cartoons.
Then Arthur appeared.
11:41.
He walked into the rehab room.
Clare covered her mouth.
Dominic didn’t move.
Arthur remained inside for sixty-three seconds.
When he came out, he adjusted his cuff and walked away.
Vincent froze the image.
“There.”
Arthur’s right hand held something small and silver.
Dominic stared at it.
“Zoom.”
The pixels broke apart.
It could have been a coin.
A screw.
A piece of metal from a brace.
Clare whispered, “Ellie saw him.”
Dominic looked down.
“Did you see that man touch my leg brace?”
Ellie nodded.
“What did he do?”
She clicked her toy three times.
Vincent’s jaw flexed.
“Enough for me.”
“No,” Dominic said.
Vincent looked at him.
“It’s enough to question him. It isn’t enough to know why.”
Mason scrubbed backward.
“Here’s the problem.”
The timestamp jumped.
11:42:16.
Then 11:49:03.
Seven minutes vanished.
Dominic straightened.
“Where’s the footage?”
“Not deleted.” Mason’s fingers moved quickly. “That would leave a deletion event. This is different. The system thinks those seven minutes never existed.”
“Who can do that?”
Mason didn’t answer.
Vincent did.
“Me.”
Dominic looked at him.
“And?”
“You.”
The room went still.
A tiny radiator tick sounded near the wall.
Ellie clicked her toy again.
Click.
Click.
Pause.
Click.
Dominic watched Vincent’s face.
“Anyone else?”
“Not without a master credential.”
Dominic took out his phone.
“Mine has been on me for six months.”
“Credentials can be cloned.”
“Yours?”
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
“Same.”
Dominic pointed to the access log.
“Pull every master-level door event yesterday.”
Mason opened another screen.
Rows of timestamps appeared.
Kitchen service.
Private office.
Garage.
Wine room.
Rehab wing.
Dominic leaned closer.
11:47 a.m.
During the missing footage.
MASTER-01.
His credential.
Door opened.
Door closed.
Clare’s breathing changed behind him.
Dominic stared at the entry until the numbers blurred.
“Where was I at eleven forty-seven yesterday?”
Vincent answered immediately.
“Vale Tower. Twenty-three miles away.”
Mason pulled up the tower log.
Dominic’s phone credential had entered the executive elevator at 11:46.
Same minute.
Two places.
One identity.
Dominic’s fingers tightened around the cane handle.
“Someone cloned me.”
Vincent nodded once.
Mason suddenly lifted a hand.
“Wait.”
He opened the access credential history.
One line flashed yellow.
A maintenance handshake.
A diagnostic event most people would ignore.
Vincent leaned over him.
“When?”
Mason swallowed.
“The clone was created eleven weeks ago.”
Dominic’s stomach turned hard.
Eleven weeks.
He didn’t need a calendar.
“That’s the day before Lower Wacker.”
The car crash.
Nobody spoke.
Vincent slowly turned toward the locked conference-room feed.
Arthur stood behind the glass with his arms folded.
Mercer had returned to the great room and was talking to him through the door.
Arthur looked annoyed.
Not afraid.
Dominic’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
NO CALLER ID.
He opened it.
There was no text.
Only a photograph.
His black sedan inside the Vale service garage the night before the crash.
The hood was open.
A man stood beside the front wheel.
His face was hidden by the raised hood.
But clipped to his belt was a white master-access card.
Dominic enlarged it.
A black stripe crossed the bottom.
His stripe.
MASTER-01.
Another message arrived.
Three words.
LOOK AT 11:47.
Dominic raised his eyes to the security log.
At 11:47 yesterday, his cloned credential had entered the rehab wing.
At 11:47 eleven weeks earlier, the same credential had entered the service garage.
Vincent read over his shoulder.
“Someone wants you to connect them.”
Dominic looked at the locked glass doors.
“No.”
He felt the pulse beating beneath the brace.
May you like
“Someone wants me to know they already did.”
