Chapter 6 - Naomi on the Run
The sky over Greenwich opened up into a torrential downpour as the black Range Rover tore through the estate gates.
Thunder rumbled like artillery overhead, shaking the ancient stone pillars. The long driveway was completely deserted; the security detail Celeste had hired had vanished the moment news of the Stamford raid leaked to the press.
Adrian braked hard outside the main courtyard. He turned to Naomi, pulling a Glock 19 from the lockbox beneath the center console.
"Stay in the car, Naomi. Call the state troopers."
"You don't know where the original floorboards were replaced, Mr. Vale," Naomi countered, her voice firm and unshakable. "I spent eleven years maintaining that carriage house. When your father renovated it in 1999, he had the western stall sealed with double-tongue oak. You don't know the layout in the dark. I do."
Adrian looked at her, seeing for the first time the formidable, fierce woman who had held his family together while he was blinded by boardrooms and false smiles.
"Keep behind me," he said.
They stepped out into the blinding sheets of rain. The wind whipped Naomi’s clothes against her skin as they moved through the rose garden toward the 1911 stone carriage house that sat four hundred yards behind the primary residence.
The structure was built of fieldstone, its heavy oak doors reinforced with wrought iron.
One of the side pedestrian doors was hanging open, swaying in the wind, its latch splintered.
Adrian raised the weapon, sweeping the interior with the tactical flashlight mounted to the barrel.
The carriage house was vast, smelling of damp stone, old engine oil, and dry-rotted hay. Vintage automobiles—Thomas Vale’s private collection of classic Jaguars and Aston Martins—sat under gray dust covers like slumbering ghosts.
"Clear," Adrian whispered.
Naomi pointed toward the rear corner, where a set of wooden stairs led up to the old groom’s quarters. Beneath the stairs sat a workbench covered in rusted hand tools.
"Here," Naomi whispered, moving to the base of the stairs.
She dropped to her knees, running her fingers along the floorboards. The wood was damp, but three boards near the wall had fresh claw marks where a pry bar had been used.
Naomi hooked her fingers under the loose plank and lifted.
Beneath the floor lay an iron floor safe, its heavy combination dial exposed.
The door was already swung open.
Inside lay an empty velvet-lined tray and an open steel lockbox.
"It's gone," Adrian breathed, lowering his flashlight. "She took the tape."
A sharp, metallic *clack* echoed from the shadows above the loft.
"Looking for this, darling?"
A beam of light illuminated the top of the wooden staircase.
Celeste Arden stood on the landing, wearing a dark waterproof parka and leather gloves. In her left hand, she held an ancient VHS tape inside a clear plastic sleeve.
In her right hand, she held a compact, matte-black semi-automatic pistol.
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And it was aimed directly at Naomi’s forehead.
***
