Chapter 292: Chapter 292

Chapter 292

The quiet countryside on the outskirts of Marseille was shattered by the sharp wail of sirens as three heavily armed French National Police vehicles tore up the long, gravel driveway leading to Sam’s estate. Tactical officers jumped out of the vans before the wheels had even come to a full stop, their boots kicking up dust and loose stones as they formed a tight defensive line around the front entrance. The massive iron gates had been left unlocked, swinging lazily in the coastal breeze. The entire property was dead silent, sitting beneath the hot French sun like an abandoned fortress.

Commander Laurent stepped out of the lead police sedan, holding a radio against his shoulder as his team breach-loaded the front door. The heavy oak panel yielded with a dull crack, swinging wide open into an empty, echoing grand foyer. The officers moved quickly from room to room, checking corners, closets, and hallways, but no one called out. There were no guards stationed at the doors, no housekeepers working in the kitchen, and no staff tending to the grounds. Sam and everyone on his payroll had cleared out, vanishing into the countryside hours before the authorities could surround the perimeter.

"The main house is completely clear, Commander," an officer reported, stepping back out onto the marble patio while pulling off his tactical gloves. "It looks like they left in a hurry. The kitchen still has half-empty coffee cups on the counter, but all personal records, laptops, and hard drives were wiped or taken."

Commander Laurent nodded slowly, directing his attention toward the rear exit that opened up to the estate's private wooded grounds. "The witness stated they broke out through the back and fled into the forest. Start at the rear courtyard and follow the trail toward the riverbank. Look for shell casings and blood marks."

Two officers made their way down the steep, narrow stone staircase leading into the estate’s private basement cellar while the forensic team headed outside. The basement air grew cold and damp, smelling faintly of mold and old wine casks. At the far end of the underground hallway sat a heavy steel door with a sliding latch on the outside. The officers pulled the latch back with a loud metallic scrape and pushed the door open, stepping into the dark, windowless room where Isabelle had been held captive.

The scene inside matched Isabelle's exact description. In the corner sat a small, unmade cot with a thin blanket tossed haphazardly across the mattress. On the stone floor near the center of the room lay a plastic food tray, flipped upside down beside broken pieces of ceramic and dried food scraps where Isabelle had hurled the tray at one of Sam's guards in defiance. Dust was kicked up all over the floor, showing clear drag marks and shoe prints that confirmed a struggle had occurred inside the narrow cell.

"She was definitely held here," one of the forensic officers said, shining a flashlight across the concrete wall. He bent down to pick up a loose thread from Isabelle’s clothing caught on the edge of the cot frame, sealing it inside a clear plastic evidence bag. "The lock was operated purely from the outside. No door handle on the interior. This wasn't a guest room—it was a prison."

Outside the estate grounds, tactical officers and forensic specialists swept deep into the dense pine woods that made up the back perimeter of Sam's private property. They followed the path down toward the small footbridge where the river ran wide and fast.

Near the muddy edge of the woods just before the bridge, a technician signaled Commander Laurent over. Yellow evidence markers were placed carefully along the damp forest floor. Two spent bullet casings glinted in the dirt, and dark, dried blood stains were smeared heavily across the muddy riverbank and surrounding rocks—marking the exact spot where Ethan had been shot in the leg while holding off Sam's guards so Isabelle could run across the footbridge to escape.

A technician photographed the blood spatters and collected fluid samples for emergency DNA testing. "The trajectory shows a confrontation right here at the tree line," the technician reported. "The shooter fired from close range while the victim was backing toward the water. Significant blood loss on the rocks."

Further down the dirt trail behind the estate wall, a police cruiser parked near an overgrown access road radioed in after spotting an old white transport van hidden beneath a pile of cut tree branches.

Commander Laurent walked down the path, ducking under the low branches until he reached the rear of the van. An officer pulled the squeaking back doors open, revealing the bodies of two of Sam’s private security guards slouched against the interior floorboards. Both men had been executed by single gunshot wounds directly to the center of their foreheads, left behind by Sam's fleeing crew to avoid dragging corpses along their escape route.

"Executed at point-blank range," the officer noted, pointing a flashbeam at the entrance marks. "Clean, deliberate shots. They were eliminated right after the search in the woods failed."

"Get the prints off the steering wheel and door handles immediately," Laurent commanded. "Cross-reference their faces with international databases. I want to know whose payroll they were on before the sun sets."

Back inside the estate’s main office, Laurent sat down at a clear glass desk and pulled out his secure satellite phone. He dialed the direct line to the United States Embassy in Paris, connecting immediately with Special Agent Miller and the American task force handling the Castellan investigation.

"Agent Miller," Laurent spoke clearly into the receiver, his voice echoing in the bare room. "My team has finished the preliminary sweep of the Marseille estate. Your witness was telling the absolute truth. We have secured the property."

On the other end of the line, sitting inside a moving sedan in California, Agent Miller listened intently. "Did you locate Sam or any of his primary lieutenants?"

"No," Laurent replied, looking through the glass window at the officers carrying evidence cases out to the vans. "The house was completely abandoned by the time we breached the gates. Sam fled the scene hours ago, pulling his entire staff out with him. However, the physical evidence left behind is overwhelming."

"What did you find?" Miller asked.

"We located the cellar room where Miss Isabelle was locked up," Laurent said, reading through his notes. "The overturned food tray, the locked door, and trace fibers matching her clothing were all recovered. Furthermore, deep in the forest perimeter near the river footbridge, we found spent shell casings and heavy blood trails on the riverbank rocks matching her account of the rescue."

Miller took a deep breath, writing down the details on her notepad. "That confirms Ethan Castellan was alive in those woods and actively engaged in saving her. What about casualties?"

"We recovered two bodies hidden in an abandoned van behind the property line," Laurent continued. "Both guards shot in the head at close range. Sam is clearing his trail, executing his own men to prevent them from talking to the authorities. I am issuing an immediate European arrest warrant through Interpol for Sam and his known associates. The French National Police are placing a border hold on all nearby ports, private airfields, and train stations.

"Send every piece of forensic documentation, photo evidence, and crime scene reports directly to our federal database in Monterey," Miller instructed. "Richard Castellan is currently attempting to legally claim his son's entire estate by declaring him officially dead. I need your official report signed and stamped so I can hand it directly to the district attorney and the judge handling the Castellan trust.

"The complete file will be transmitted to your office within two hours," Laurent said. "We are keeping a tactical squad stationed at the Marseille property in case anyone attempts to return for leftover hidden assets. Keep your witness secured, Agent Miller. If Sam is executing his own people to cover his tracks, he is desperate."

Laurent ended the call and stood up, looking around the empty office one last time. He pocketed his phone, pulled his hat down low, and walked out toward the police cruisers parked along the driveway, leaving the silent estate behind under heavy police guard.