Marcus shone the light directly onto the black journal in my hands.

“You found it,” he said.

“Sophie kept it safe,” I said, my voice trembling slightly as I looked down at the embossed initials on the cover. “It was in the wall.”

“We need to get out of this basement,” Pierce said, taking out his phone to check the signal. “The reception down here is dead, and I need to confirm the dispatch on those warrants.”

We followed Marcus back up the stairs, our boots echoing softly on the wood.

The air in the main hallway of the mansion felt warmer, but the tension was thick enough to taste.

Outside, the Aspen wind rattled the heavy glass panes of the floor-to-ceiling windows, throwing sheets of dry, powdery snow against the facade.

Marcus led us into his small security office near the service entrance, a room filled with flickering monitors showing various angles of the snow-covered estate.

He closed the heavy door behind us and locked it.

“Show me,” Pierce said, pulling a chair up to the metal desk.