Jonathan stared at his hand around Elena's wrist.
“I said let go.”
Derek released her.
Then stepped toward Jonathan.
“Leave.”
Jonathan picked up the food.
He walked away.
He made it twenty yards before looking back.
Elena stood near the gate.
Derek was speaking close to her face.
Jonathan couldn't hear the words.
He didn't need to.
He saw Elena's shoulders.
Rigid.
He saw her eyes lower.
He saw Derek point toward the house.
Jonathan memorized everything.
Then he disappeared into the morning fog.
But he didn't leave the estate.
Blackwood Manor covered twenty-one acres.
Jonathan knew every service entrance, stone wall, drainage path and maintenance road.
He circled around.
At 7:48 he reached the rear service entrance.
A groundskeeper named Sam Whitaker was unloading fertilizer.
Jonathan approached.
“Morning.”
Sam looked at him.
Then looked away.
Jonathan waited.
“Sir?”
“Could I get some water?”
Sam glanced toward the security camera above the garage.
“No.”
“Just water.”
“Can't.”
Jonathan noticed fear rather than disgust.
“Why?”
Sam lowered his voice.
“Please leave.”
“I'm thirsty.”
Sam looked at the camera again.
Then opened his truck.
He removed a half-full bottle.
He placed it on the ground rather than handing it directly to Jonathan.
“Take it after I walk away.”
Jonathan frowned.
“Why?”
Sam whispered:
“Because they're watching.”
Then he walked toward the greenhouse.
Jonathan stared at the bottle.
They're watching.
Who?
Derek?
Charles?
Jonathan picked up the water.
At 8:13 he approached the kitchen delivery entrance.
A cook named Brenda opened the door.
She recognized him as a stranger.
Her eyes widened.
“You can't be here.”
“I was hoping—”
“No.”
The door closed.
Then reopened five seconds later.
A paper bag appeared.
“Don't tell anyone.”
The door closed again.
Jonathan opened the bag.
A breakfast sandwich.
Apple.
Bottle of juice.
Three people.
Three different responses.
Derek used power.
Sam showed fear.
Brenda showed secret kindness.
Elena had risked punishment.
Jonathan was beginning to understand that the problem inside Blackwood wasn't that his employees lacked character.
It was that someone had taught decent people to hide it.
At 8:45 he watched from behind a maintenance shed as a black SUV entered the estate.
Charles Vane stepped out.
Fifty-six.
Elegant.
Silver tie.
Perfect posture.
Estate manager for nine years.
Jonathan trusted Charles more than almost anyone.
Charles had organized Margaret's funeral.
He had handled the household while Jonathan spent weeks sleeping in his Manhattan penthouse because returning to Blackwood hurt too much.
Charles had access to everything.
Payroll.
Contractors.
Security.
Vehicles.
Household accounts.