Chapter 9 - The Anatomy of Revenge
The rain turned into a freezing sleet by 01:30 AM.
The Sterling Estate sat atop a high, wooded hill overlooking the Hudson River like an ancient stone fortress. High stone walls, topped with wrought-iron pikes and covered in dark, leafless ivy, surrounded the ten-acre property. Security cameras with glowing red infrared rings swept the perimeter in slow, mechanical arcs.
At 02:05 AM, a tiny, dark shadow moved through the thick rhododendron bushes near the east wall.
Leo was drenched to the bone. His torn canvas jacket was soaked, heavy, and stiff with ice. His feet were entirely numb inside his wet sneakers, but he didn't feel the cold. A fierce, consuming fire burned inside his chest, driving him forward through the dark.
In his right hand, he clutched the heavy brass master key. In his left jacket pocket, wrapped in a plastic bread bag to keep it dry, was the sharpened steel nail and the small silver voice recorder.
He reached the iron side gate—a narrow service entrance hidden behind overgrown holly bushes. He inserted the brass key into the lock.
It turned smoothly. No sound. No alarm.
Leo slipped through the gate, entering the manicured grounds of the estate.
The lawn was a vast expanse of dark green velvet, silent under the freezing rain. The grand stone mansion loomed ahead, its high gabled roofs and dark gothic windows cutting a terrifying silhouette against the storm-clouded sky.
Leo moved like a ghost, keeping to the deep shadows cast by the boxwood hedges. He reached the terrace outside the ground-floor master study.
Through the tall, leaded-glass French doors, a faint, amber light flickered from a massive marble fireplace.
Leo crept closer, pressing his face against the wet glass.
Inside the study, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves and expensive oil paintings, sat Julian Sterling.
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He was a man in his late fifties, with silver-grey hair, wearing an expensive silk dressing gown. He was slumped in a deep leather armchair in front of the fire, an empty crystal decanter of scotch resting on the small table beside him. His chin rested on his chest, his mouth slightly open, his breathing heavy and uneven.
He was fast asleep.
