In the security command center, the board lit up red.
“Malfunction in Sector 4,” the system blared. “Thermal sensors offline. Camera feed looping.”
“Damn it,” Cohen, the Head of Security, cursed. “That’s the blind spot near the garden entrance. It must be the wiring from the storm repairs.”
“Should I send the gate team?” a deputy asked.
“No, pull the team from the front gate to check the perimeter manually,” Cohen ordered. “We can’t leave the garden exposed with the Senator smoking out there.”
At the front gate, the guard received the order in his earpiece. “I have to respond to a breach. You stay right here,” he told Melanie, pointing a finger at her before jogging toward the north wall.
Melanie stood alone in the driveway. The gate was unmanned.
She looked at the envelope in her hand–the DNA test that linked her to Alistair Croft. She looked at the open road leading up to the house.
She didn’t wait. Melanie ducked under the barrier arm and began to run up the long, winding driveway. Ahead of her, the French doors of the ballroom glowed like a beacon, full of music and laughter that she was about to silence forever.