Chapter 8: Whispers in the Dark
The rain began to fall by Thursday evening, drumming a steady, melancholic rhythm against the corrugated tin roof of the safe house.
Marcus sat hunched over his laptop screens, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, running diagnostic scripts to ensure their communication channels remained completely undetectable by municipal stingray towers.
"I've mapped the internal camera feeds of the estate," Marcus said, motioning for Rebecca and Thomas to view the glowing monitor. "The blind spot is on the western terrace, just outside your old art studio, Becca. The motion sensors there were disabled during the last landscaping overhaul and never got re-calibrated."
Rebecca studied the schematic layout, tracing her finger along the hallway leading directly to Julian's private study. "The safe is hidden behind the portrait of my grandfather. The combination is my mother's birthday—he always arrogantly kept it something personal he thought no one else would guess."
"Classic narcissist behavior," Thomas muttered, nodding slowly. "They think their arrogance is a shield. Now, here's how we play this. Marcus stays here to monitor police scanner frequencies and maintain our digital exit route. You and I make the approach on Friday night during the height of the gala. The noise and crowd will give us the cover we need."
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"And if Julian is in the study?" Rebecca asked, her heart skipping a beat.
Thomas's eyes hardened into flint. "Then we deal with him when we get there. But we don't stop until those files are in our hands."
