Chapter 276: Chapter 276

Chapter 276

Sam Keystone tore through the mahogany desk drawers inside his private office on the top floor of the estate, turning over stacks of real estate deeds and personal documents. He dumped the contents of a leather briefcase onto the glass table, his breathing harsh and uneven as his hands frantically sorted through the papers. The small, metallic black flash drive containing his private financial logs and offshore transfer records was completely gone.

He knew exactly where he had left it inside his coat pocket after leaving the Monterey office, but now, after searching every square inch of his luggage and bedroom, it was nowhere to be found. It never crossed his mind that Isabelle could have taken it. She was locked away in the subterranean service wing, stripped of her belongings, and monitored by security around the clock. He assumed one of the transport drivers or dock workers in California had pocketed it, or that he had dropped it during the rush to board the private jet.

The heavy office door clicked open, and Madame Laroche walked inside, holding a small silver tray with an untouched plate of cold chicken and vegetables. Her sharp, tailored dress was spotless, but her face carried a tight expression of frustration as she set the tray down on the corner of Sam’s chaotic desk.

"Monsieur Keystone," she said, her heavy French accent cutting through the room as she spoke in clear, deliberate English. "She is being impossible again. For three days now, mademoiselle refuses every meal I send down. When the girl who brings the linens tried to clean the floor this morning, Isabelle threw the glass water pitcher against the door. She is very aggressive with all the staff. Nobody wants to go down into that room anymore."

Sam stopped tearing through his leather folder and looked up at Laroche, his hands resting on the edge of the desk. The stress of the missing drive was already driving his temper to the absolute limit. "She isn't eating because she thinks a hunger strike is going to make me break," Sam said, rubbing his temple as he stared at the wall. "She wants attention, Madame Laroche. Let her starve for another day if she wants to throw dishes at my people."

"It is not just about the food, monsieur," Laroche replied, adjusting her gold wristwatch. "If she gets sick or hurts herself with broken glass, it becomes my problem to handle. She is acting like a caged animal down there, kicking the iron frame of the bed every time a guard steps near the keycard reader."

Sam stared at the empty space on his desk where his coat had been hanging earlier, a sudden wave of paranoia washing over him. The missing drive held enough evidence to ruin his entire European expansion before the gala even started. If anyone had handled his coat or passed through his luggage during the flight from California, he needed to be entirely sure. He looked directly at Laroche, his voice dropping into a low, commanding tone.

"Go down there right now and search her," Sam ordered, pointing a finger toward the door. "Take two guards with you. Search every corner of that room, search her mattress, and search her clothes. Something very important of mine is missing, and I want to be hundred percent sure she didn't somehow pick that."

Laroche raised an eyebrow, looking slightly surprised by the sudden order. "You think she took something from you? She has been locked in the wine cellar foundation since we landed."

"I don't care where she has been," Sam snapped, slamming the top drawer shut with a loud bang. "Just do a thorough search. Strip the bedding, check the floorboards, and check her shoes. Do not leave a single corner unchecked."

Down in the dim, stone-walled cellar, Isabelle sat on the edge of the narrow iron cot, her eyes fixed on the heavy oak door. She had heard the distant heavy footsteps of guards echoing down the stone staircase long before the door lock clicked.

Through the small iron peephole, she saw the shadows of two large men standing behind Madame Laroche. She knew instantly that something was wrong. The routine meals were always brought by a single staff member, never with two armed guards standing directly at the doorway.

Her mind raced. She reached down to her right boot, her fingers quickly slipping inside the leather lining where the cold, metallic edge of the flash drive rested against her ankle. If they were coming in with guards, they were coming to search the room. Keeping it on her body or hiding it under the thin mattress was useless—they would tear the bed apart in five seconds.

Isabelle stood up smoothly, sliding her hand out of her boot as she stepped toward the corner of the room where an old, wide iron oven sat built directly into the low foundation wall. The heavy appliance had been disconnected decades ago, its rusting metal frame sitting two inches off the uneven stone floor, covered in decades of dust and grime.

As the heavy electronic lock on the cellar door buzzed and clicked open, Isabelle casually tossed the small black drive onto the floor near her foot. With one quick, subtle nudge of her heel, she kicked the drive straight under the deep, wide shadow of the iron oven. It slid six inches deep into the dark gap, vanishing entirely into the thick layer of dust beneath the frame.

She pulled her foot back and stood tall just as the door swung wide open.

Madame Laroche stepped into the room first, her heels clicking loudly against the stone floor, while two towering guards in black suits stepped in right behind her, blocking the only exit. Laroche held her hands behind her back, her sharp eyes scanning Isabelle from head to toe before looking around the small, bare room.

"Move away from the wall, mademoiselle," Laroche said, her French accent sharp and demanding. "Hands where we can see them. Monsieur Keystone wants this room thoroughly searched."

Isabelle didn't move an inch, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at the woman. "Tell Sam to come down here and search the room himself if he's so worried. I'm not doing a single thing you ask."

Laroche signaled to the two guards with a brief flick of her wrist. "Hold her arms."

The two men stepped forward immediately. One of them grabbed Isabelle’s upper arm, but she instantly jerked her shoulder back, swinging her elbow hard into his ribs. The guard grunted, taking a step back in surprise, while the second guard grabbed both of her wrists from behind, pinning her arms behind her back despite her kicking and wrestling against his grip.

"Get your hands off me!" Isabelle shouted, her voice echoing off the damp cellar walls as she tried to stomp on the guard's foot.

While the guard held her tight, Madame Laroche stepped up and conducted a thorough physical search, running her hands down Isabelle’s jacket pockets, checking her waist, and feeling around the collar of her shirt. Finding nothing, Laroche knelt down, forcibly unbuckling Isabelle’s boots one by one, shaking them out onto the stone floor and inspecting the inner insoles. Nothing fell out onto the ground.

"Search the rest of this pit," Laroche ordered, standing up and dusting off her hands.

The first guard immediately walked over to the cot. He flipped the thin mattress completely over, dumping the single pillow onto the floor and shaking out the rough woolen blanket. He used his flashlight to inspect the metal bed frame, tapping against the iron bars to check for any hollow tubes or hidden tape. He moved to the small wooden washbasin in the corner, turning over the empty pitcher and checking under the small stool.

Laroche walked around the perimeter of the room, shining her own small light along the edges of the stone walls. She glanced over at the old wide iron oven sitting in the corner, shining her light across the rusted metal doors and the flat top surface.

Dust covered the entire upper rim undisturbed. She bent down slightly, aiming the beam near the bottom edge of the metal legs, but from her standing angle, the deep gap beneath the wide base was completely swallowed in pitch-black shadow. She didn't bother getting down on her knees on the dirty stone floor to look underneath.

"There is nothing here," the guard holding the mattress announced, tossing the bedding back onto the iron frame in a messy pile. "The room is completely clean."

Laroche adjusted her jacket, looking over at Isabelle, who was standing with her arms free again, breathing heavily and glaring at them with pure hatred. Her boots lay tossed on the floor near her feet.

"You are making this much harder on yourself than it needs to be, child," Laroche said, stepping back toward the open doorway while the guards backed out into the hallway. "If you do not eat tomorrow, I will have the doctor come down and put an IV line in your arm. We are not going to ask you again."

"Get out," Isabelle said through clenched teeth, her voice steady and low.

Laroche didn't answer. She stepped out into the corridor, and the heavy oak door slammed shut, followed by the heavy, metallic clunk of the electronic deadbolts sliding back into place. The footsteps of the guards faded down the hall until absolute silence returned to the subterranean wing.

Isabelle stood still for a long moment, listening carefully to make sure nobody was standing outside the iron peephole.

Once she was certain she was completely alone, she let out a long breath, knelt down on the cold stone floor, and reached her arm deep under the wide iron oven. Her fingers searched through the thick layer of dust until her knuckles brushed against the cold, metallic edge of the flash drive. She pulled it out, wiped the dust off against her pants, and tucked it back into the inner pocket of her jacket, locking her eyes back on the closed door.