Three quiet knocks from inside my mother’s coffin revealed a secret that was supposed to be buried six feet underground.

The Parker Estate sat on eighty acres of private woodland in Blackwood Ridge—a massive, three-story Tudor mansion surrounded by high stone walls, iron gates, and ancient oak trees.

It was the home where my father had grown up, where my mother had lived before Richard infiltrated our lives, and where I had spent my early childhood.

Now, at 8:00 PM, the mansion was shrouded in dark fog and heavy rain.

Marcus parked the armored police SUV half a mile away in a dense thicket of pines. We walked through the dark woods on foot, keeping beneath the canopy of trees to avoid infrared drone sweeps.

"The estate is locked down," Marcus whispered, crouching behind a stone pillar near the perimeter gate. Through his night-vision scope, he scanned the illuminated drive. "Arthur’s private security detail has posted four armed sentries at the main entrance."

"Why did we come here, Marcus?" Claire asked, shivering in her dark raincoat. "Arthur controls the house."

"Arthur Pendelton is currently holding a press conference in the mansion’s grand ballroom," Marcus revealed, pulling up a live news feed on his encrypted tactical tablet.

He showed us the screen.

On the news broadcast, Arthur Pendelton was standing at a podium inside our mansion, flanked by state senators, news reporters, and a weeping Richard wearing a neck brace.

"...Claire Parker’s tragic death was a shock to us all," Arthur was saying into the microphones, his face a mask of grief. "And now, her unstable, rogue former investigator, Marcus Reed, has kidnapped young Leo Parker. I am offering a one-million-dollar reward for the safe return of my late partner's son..."

"He's using the house to cement his public narrative," Claire hissed, her knuckles turning white. "He's staging his takeover in front of the entire country."

"And that," Marcus smiled grimly, "is his fatal mistake. He invited thirty news camera crews into his house."

Marcus pulled the black hard drive and the cassette tape from his tactical pouch.

"The estate's primary broadcasting hub is located in the basement study," Marcus explained. "Every satellite truck parked in the driveway is plugged directly into the house's master media feed. If we can get this hard drive into that basement server, we won't just leak Arthur's crimes to a judge—we will broadcast them live to twenty million people watching the news right now."

"How do we get inside?" I asked. "The sentries are everywhere."

Claire looked at the massive Tudor mansion, a soft, bitter smile touching her lips. "Thomas built a secret panic cellar under the grand fireplace after Leo was born. The entrance is through the old laundry chute in the butler’s pantry."

She turned to me.

"Leo," Claire whispered, touching my cheek. "The laundry chute is twelve inches wide. Neither Marcus nor I can fit through it."

I looked at the house. I looked at the small brass rose key resting in my pocket.

"I can fit," I said firmly.

"You slip through the chute," Marcus instructed, handed me an encrypted USB bridge cable. "You reach the basement server rack, plug this cable into the main satellite encoder, and press the red button. I will trigger the upload remotely from my phone."

"What about Arthur?" Claire asked. "He'll realize what's happening the moment the feed cuts."

"He won't have time to react," Marcus said, drawing two spare magazines from his belt. "Because the moment the broadcast starts... Claire and I are walking through the front door."

Claire looked at Marcus, then at me. She pulled me into a long, tight embrace, holding me so close I could hear the steady, fierce beat of her heart.

"Tap, tap, tap," she whispered.