“Are you expecting someone else, sir?” I asked.

Alexander’s brow furrowed as he stared at the vehicle.

“No,” he said.

“The staff was instructed to lock the gates after the police left.”

The headlights of the sedan flickered once, then twice.

It was a signal.

My phone vibrated violently in my apron pocket.

I pulled it out, my fingers cold.

The screen lit up with a message from an unknown contact.

I tapped the notification.

The message was a short video clip.

It showed the interior of the black sedan.

In the back seat, a gloved hand was holding a silver key.

It was the spare key to the Hawthorne master safe.

The camera tilted up, showing the driver’s face in the rearview mirror.

My breath caught in my throat.

The driver was someone I recognized.

The driver was Marcus, the former head of our estate security who had been dismissed three months ago.

I held the phone out so Alexander could see the screen.

The glare of the display lit up his face, casting deep shadows under his eyes.

He did not speak at first.