Chapter 289: Chapter 289

Chapter 289

The rain had finally tapered off into a miserable drizzle by the time the search teams returned to the estate. Inside the grand study, Sam Keystone paced back and forth across the polished hardwood floor, a crystal tumbler of whiskey in his hand. Every shadow in the room seemed to stretch out into thin, nervous lines as the heavy mahogany doors clicked open. Madame Laroche entered first, her posture stiff, followed closely by two senior security guards clad in tactical gear, their uniforms caked in wet river mud and pine needles.

Sam stopped pacing and turned around slowly, taking a small sip of his drink before setting the glass down on his desk with a deliberate click. He looked at the two men with cold, calculating eyes.

"Tell me you have her," Sam said, his voice quiet, almost terrifyingly conversational. "Tell me she’s tied up in the car outside, and we can all move on with our morning."

The lead guard swallowed hard, shifting his weight nervously on his muddy boots. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor just in front of Sam’s desk, unable to make direct eye contact. "Mr. Keystone... we searched the entire forest perimeter. We tracked them down to the river bank near the border bridge."

"And?" Sam asked, stepping closer.

"We cornered them at the footbridge," the guard continued, his voice trembling slightly. "Castellan put up a fight. One of our men shot him in the calf, and he went down right at the edge of the water. But the girl... Isabelle... she ran across the bridge before we could grab her. She disappeared into the trees on the other side."

Sam stared at the guard for three long, silent seconds. His expression didn't change at all, which only made the air in the room feel sharper. "You let a weak girl outrun six trained tactical operatives in a fenced forest. That is what you are telling me."

"The river was raging after the storm, sir," the second guard spoke up hastily, trying to defend his captain. "We tried to pursue her, but the bridge was slick, and we had to secure Castellan first. Except—"

"Except what?" Sam interjected, his tone dropping an octave.

"Except when we went to grab Castellan from the mud, the current broke the bank," the lead guard stammered out, sweat glistening on his forehead despite the cool morning air. "The water swept him away downstream. We searched two miles of the riverbank for four hours, sir. We found his blood on the rocks, but... we couldn't find his body. We think he drowned."

Sam stood completely still. The silence in the study grew razor-thin as Madame Laroche took a discreet step backward toward the wall, her hands folded neatly in front of her gray uniform dress.

Without saying a single word, Sam reached down, opened the top drawer of his mahogany desk, and pulled out a sleek black semi-automatic pistol.

"Mr. Keystone, please—" the lead guard gasped, raising his hands in a frantic gesture.

Pop. Pop.

The muffled gunshots cracked loudly through the room, sounding like heavy whip-cracks. Two single shots fired in rapid succession, both hitting the guards precisely in the center of their foreheads.

The two men collapsed instantly onto the hardwood floor, their heavy bodies thudding against the Persian rug as blood began to pool beneath them. The metallic smell of gunpowder and copper quickly filled the grand study.

In the doorway, two young housemaids holding cleaning trays gasped, their faces draining of all color as they pressed themselves back against the corridor wall. Madame Laroche did not flinch, nor did she scream. Her face remained a completely blank mask of professional stone, her eyes barely darting toward the two bodies lying on the rug. This was not the first time she had witnessed Sam Keystone execute staff for failures that threatened his empire, and she knew better than to offer a single word of protest.

Sam stood over the bodies for a brief second, his eyes dead and unreadable. He racked the slide of the pistol, tossed the gun casually onto his leather desk chair, and smoothed down the front of his tailored suit jacket.

"Useless idiots," Sam muttered under his breath, stepping carefully over the pool of blood spreading across the rug.

He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out toward the driveway where his driver was already idling the black Mercedes sedan. Isabelle had the flash drive, and if she reached a major city or an embassy, his entire life’s work was in immediate danger. He needed to get back to California before she could use those files to tear down his operations from Monterey.

"Laroche," Sam called out, not bothering to turn around as he adjusted his cufflinks.

"Yes, Mr. Keystone?" Laroche replied, her voice completely smooth, showing no trace of fear.

"Get the grounds crew up here immediately," Sam ordered, his voice cold and flat. "Clean this mess up before the afternoon shifts arrive. Burn the rug and roll out a new one from storage. If anyone asks, those two transferred to the South American detail last night."

"Right away, sir," Laroche said with a crisp nod. She turned to the terrified housemaids cowering in the hallway and pointed a sharp finger toward the utility closet. "You two, go get the heavy plastic sheets, the bleach, and the carpet knives. Now. Before I have Mr. Keystone review your performance from yesterday."

The two girls scrambled down the hall without a word, their hands shaking so badly they nearly dropped their cleaning supplies.

Sam grabbed his leather coat from the rack near the door and pulled it over his shoulders. He didn't look back at the study, nor did he check on the cleanup effort. He walked straight down the grand marble staircase, his polished leather shoes clicking sharply against the steps, heading out the front entrance toward his waiting car to catch the next private flight to Monterey.