Chapter 6 - The Watcher in the Walls
The Malibu safe house was supposed to be a fortress. My father had spared no expense, hiring ex-Secret Service private security and installing state-of-the-art encryption on the property’s network. For six months, the ocean breeze and the rhythmic sound of the waves had lulled us into a false sense of security. Preston and Victoria were rotting in federal holding cells. We had won.
Or so I thought.
It started on a Tuesday night. A violent Pacific storm was battering the coastline, rattling the heavy glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Olivia was asleep in the master bedroom, exhausted from teething duty, leaving me to watch the baby monitor on the kitchen island while I answered emails.
The screen glowed faintly in the dark kitchen, showing baby Leo sleeping soundly in his crib.
Then, the camera physically moved.
My breath hitched. The lens smoothly panned to the left, away from the crib, and zoomed in directly on the bedroom door. Then, a chilling, mechanical click echoed through the monitor’s speaker.
“He looks just like his father.”
The voice that crackled through the two-way speaker wasn't a stranger's. It was Preston’s.
My blood ran ice-cold. He was supposed to be in a maximum-security federal lockup in New York. I snatched my phone and dialed the lead FBI agent, Martinez. It went straight to a disconnected tone. Panic clawed at my throat as I realized the Wi-Fi icon on my phone was dead. The cell service was jammed.
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Suddenly, all the lights in the Malibu house shut off. The storm raged outside, but inside, a terrifying, suffocating silence fell. The security team outside wasn't answering their radios.
Preston’s voice slithered through the baby monitor again, dripping with arrogance. “You didn't really think a judge could hold a Sterling, did you, Claire? I’m coming inside to collect my son. If you get in my way this time, I won't be as polite as my mother.”
