“Five seconds is enough to bypass the biometric scanner,” Rowan said.

“Only if you are already at the door,” Marcus warned.

“I will be,” Rowan said.

We turned onto the winding mountain road that led to the Whitmore estate.

The trees on either side of the road were thick and dark, dripping with water.

In the distance, the glowing lights of the massive estate appeared through the mist.

It looked like a castle built on the edge of the cliff.

“There is the outer checkpoint,” Marcus said, leaning forward.

Up ahead, two security guards in heavy raincoats were waving cars through a iron gate.

A long line of luxury sedans and sports cars stretched down the hill.

“Put these on,” Marcus said, handing me a black jacket and a nametag.

The nametag read ‘Staff – Catering.’

Rowan pulled the SUV off the main road, parking it in a dark grove of trees near the service entrance.

“This is as far as the vehicle goes,” Rowan said, turning off the engine.

The sudden silence in the car was deafening.

“Are you ready?” Rowan asked, looking back at me.