Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
Russ’s fists slammed against the heavy wooden door, the sound reverberating down the hallway. “Claire!” he shouted; his voice raw with urgency. “Claire, open the door!”
The silence on the other side was suffocating. Russ banged again, harder this time, his desperation mounting. The crowd behind him murmured anxiously, their unease rippling through the hallway like static electricity. Among them were childhood friends of Claire, distant cousins, and even strangers who had only known her through brief introductions at the party. Yet here they all were, united in their determination to act.
Russ turned to face them, his jaw tight. “We need to break this door down,” he said, his voice firm and commanding.
A young man near the front—a wiry guy in his late twenties who introduced himself earlier as a childhood friend of Claire’s—stepped forward. “There’s an iron coat rack by the stairwell,” he offered. “It’s sturdy enough to use as a battering ram.”
Russ nodded, his gratitude unspoken but clear. “Go get it. Now.”
The man took off at a sprint, disappearing down the hall. Russ turned back to the door, pressing his ear against it, straining to catch any sound from inside.
There was nothing—no voices, no movement, just an unnerving silence that made his skin crawl.
“Claire!” he called again, his voice cracking slightly. “If you can hear me, say something!”
Still nothing.
The young man returned moments later, dragging the iron coat rack with him, its legs scraping against the polished wooden floor. Two other men stepped forward—both tall and broad-shouldered, their expressions resolute. Russ grabbed one end of the rack while the two men gripped the other.
“On three,” Russ said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “One... two... three!”
They surged forward as one, the coat rack slamming into the door with a deafening crash. The wood splintered slightly but held firm. The crowd pressed closer, their collective anxiety palpable.
“Again,” Russ ordered, his grip tightening.
The second impact was stronger, the sound even louder. This time, the door cracked, the ornate woodwork splintering near the frame.
“Almost there!” someone shouted from the crowd.
“Once more!” Russ barked.
With a final, thunderous crash, the door gave way, the lock snapping under the force. The coat rack clattered to the floor as Russ and the two men surged into the room, their eyes scanning the space for any sign of Claire. His heart sank. The library was empty.
The large bay window on the far wall stood wide open, its thick curtains swaying gently in the breeze. The soft rustle of fabric was the only sound in the room. The scattered books and an overturned chair suggested a struggle, but there was no sign of Claire or Michael.
“Claire!” Russ bellowed, his voice reverberating off the walls as the others fanned out, calling her name and frantically searching behind shelves and under desks.
He strode to the window in long, purposeful steps, his gut twisting as he peered outside. Below, the carefully manicured grounds stretched out in the moonlight. The drop from the window wasn’t impossible, especially with the thick bushes below that would soften the fall. The crushed foliage directly beneath the window confirmed it—someone had jumped.
“They went out the window,” Russ called over his shoulder, his voice firm but tinged with urgency. He turned to the growing group of people crowding the room. “We need to call the police. Now.”
A young man near the door, the same one who’d fetched the coat rack, pulled out his phone and nodded. “I’m on it,” he said, dialing as he hurried from the room.
Another man, older with a sharp, commanding presence, stepped forward. “We need to lock down the property. Nobody leaves. Someone call to the security on the gates and make sure they’re locked down.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, and people began to scatter, their movements quick and purposeful. Some rushed downstairs to spread the word, while others headed toward the grounds to begin searching.
Russ turned back to the window, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the sill. His mind raced with possibilities. Michael was dangerous, but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t hurt Claire outright—not yet. He’d try to manipulate her, to keep her under his control. But the clock was ticking, and every second they lost put Claire in greater danger.
“Russ!” Hillary’s voice cut through the chaos. She pushed her way through the crowd, her face pale but her expression resolute. “What do we know?”
“They went out the window,” Russ said grimly, jerking his thumb toward the open frame. “The bushes below were trampled. It’s not a far drop. Someone’s already called the police, and we’ve got people locking down the gates and searching the grounds.”
Hillary nodded, her jaw tightening as she moved to stand beside him.
She placed a hand on Russ’s arm, her grip firm. “We’ll find her,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear flickering in her eyes. “You got up here as fast as you could.”
Before Russ could respond, a commotion in the hallway drew their attention. A young woman appeared in the doorway, out of breath but determined. “They’ve spotted someone running toward the lake,” she said quickly. “It’s dark, but they think it might be Claire and Michael.”
Russ didn’t hesitate. “Let’s move,” he said, already heading for the door with Hillary close on his heels.
The group moved as one, their footsteps echoing down the grand staircase and spilling out onto the estate’s sprawling grounds. He’d remembered his promise to Madame Fournier. When it was time to make Michael pay, she would be the one to collect.