Chapter 74 - The Blind Spot
We moved through the low-ceilinged stone conduit that ran beneath the southern terrace. The ground was slick with runoff, the freezing water soaking through my leather boots, but the adrenaline pulsing through my veins made the biting cold feel distant, almost abstract. Julian kept his tactical flashlight hooded with his fingers, casting just enough amber light to keep our footing sure along the slippery trench.
"Where does this lead?" Julian asked quietly, pausing to listen as the muffled vibration of heavy footsteps reverberated through the stone ceiling above us.
"The original carriage house," I answered, keeping pace despite the ache in my arthritic knees. "It sits four hundred yards beyond the main perimeter gate, completely hidden behind the overgrown spruce line. Donald built the drainage conduit in 1952 when he was afraid the state tax assessors would inspect the basement archives. He always believed in having a back door to his kingdom."
We reached an iron bulkhead door fastened with a counterweighted latch. Julian braced his shoulder against the rusted crossbar, groaning under the strain until the rusted iron gave way with a sharp snap. We slipped through into the dirt-floored carriage shed just as the wail of a secondary siren split the night back at the manor.
Peering through the warped wooden slats of the carriage house wall, I looked back at the house that had defined my life. The grand stone facade of Mercer Hall was bathed in harsh theatrical white light. Three black command trucks blocked the circular driveway, and men clad in dark tactical gear were swarming through the front terrace, carrying black crates and dragging long cables into the foyer.
"They aren't just looking for you," Julian said, watching the operatives through his sight. "They're searching the walls. They know what Donald hidden away here."
"They will find nothing in the walls," I said grimly, walking to the far corner of the shed where an old canvas tarp covered a 1998 forest-green utility truck. "Tyler was smarter than his father. Tyler knew that whatever was inside Mercer Hall belonged to the state the moment Richard signed those receivership papers. Tyler put the birth certificate where neither Richard nor Thomas Vance has the legal authority to trespass."
Julian pulled the tarp away, coughing at the cloud of dust. "And where is that?"
May you like
"In Tyler's own custody," I said. "Locked in the evidence locker at the reservoir barracks where Vance thinks he has him safely neutralized. We are going to break my grandson out of that cell."
***
