Chapter 8 - The Purge
The front courtyard of the Sterling estate was ablaze with portable halogen floodlights, their glaring white beams slicing through the rain. Uniformed workers in black jumpsuits were carrying sealed cardboard archive boxes out of the mansion’s side offices, loading them systematically into the back of an industrial mobile shredding truck.
Daniel jumped out of Marcus's pickup before it had even come to a complete halt, his shoes splashing through pools of muddy water. He sprinted past the perimeter guards, who were too startled by his sudden appearance and disheveled, blood-stained state to react in time.
""Stop loading those trucks!"" Daniel bellowed, his voice echoing across the limestone facade of the mansion.
A man in an expensive charcoal raincoat stepped out from beneath the portico, holding a clipboard protected by clear plastic. It was Julian Vance, Arthur’s personal chief of staff and political fixer. He looked at Daniel with an expression of weary pity.
""You shouldn't be here, Daniel,"" Julian said calmly, signaling two private security officers to position themselves between Daniel and the vans. ""The Senator has declared the estate an active political campaign headquarters. All non-essential personal property and internal domestic records are being transferred to secure archives in Sacramento.""
""Where is Henri?"" Daniel demanded, ignoring the guards and advancing on Julian. ""Where is the head chef?""
Julian sighed, adjusting his glasses. ""Chef Henri resigned his position earlier this evening due to personal family matters. He is currently on a private charter flight back to Bordeaux. His employment contract was bought out entirely.""
""You paid him off to destroy the food logs,"" Marcus snarled, stepping up beside Daniel, holding a heavy tire iron openly at his side. ""You're covering up an attempted poisoning!""
Julian glanced down at the tire iron with faint amusement. ""I would advise you to put that away, sir, before private security neutralizes you. As for poisoning, that is an absurd, defamatory fabrication. The police have already concluded their initial on-site review. They found no illicit substances.""
Daniel didn't argue. He knew how Julian operated; words were useless against institutional corruption. Instead of forcing his way into the main house, Daniel spun on his heel and sprinted toward the guest pavilion near the lower terrace—the secluded bungalow where he and Clara had lived during the last six months of her pregnancy.
""Daniel, stop him!"" Julian yelled, his composure finally cracking. ""He cannot access that structure!""
The guards gave chase, their heavy boots thudding across the wet flagstones. Daniel reached the French doors of the pavilion first, throwing his entire weight against the lock. The glass shattered inward with an explosive crash. Daniel tumbled onto the hardwood floor, scrambled to his feet, and threw the heavy deadbolt shut just as the guards slammed against the outside frame.
The pavilion was dark, smelling faintly of Clara’s lavender perfume and the clean linen of an empty nursery. Daniel ignored the nursery and raced into the small master study. He dropped to his knees behind Clara's desk, reaching under the false bottom of the antique oak credenza.
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Clara was a freelance investigative journalist before they married; she never trusted the Sterling family. She had installed her own private, closed-circuit baby monitor system that backed up to an independent cloud server hidden inside an old audio amplifier.
Daniel ripped the amplifier's back panel off. The micro-SD cards were still there, their tiny green LED indicators blinking softly in the dark.
