The Maid Who Reclaimed Her Family Legacy and Silenced Chicago
He was looking toward the dark hallway.
“The Syndicate has already been notified that the trust is active,” Nathaniel said. “They will try to contact Valerie.”
I felt the phone in my hand vibrate again.
The screen lit up, casting a pale blue light on my face.
It was another text from the same unknown number.
I hesitated before opening it.
“They are already here,” I said, looking at the screen.
The text was short.
“The gate is open,” the message read. “We are waiting on the terrace.”
I looked toward the French doors that led out to the stone terrace.
Outside, the rain was pouring down, washing over the stone floor I had scrubbed just three days ago.
The shadows of three figures stood near the stone balustrade, motionless in the dark.
I watched them, my heart beating fast against my ribs.
One of the figures raised a hand and tapped on the glass.
The tapping sound was sharp, like a fingernail hitting glass.
I stood frozen for a second, the phone still glowing in my hand.