Chapter 7 - Driving Through The Snowy Night
The wind howled through the bare oak trees lining the grand driveway, whipping snow into swirling vortexes around my boots. The Whitaker manor stood like a dark fortress against the winter sky, only a few decorative lights glowing softly in the front windows.
I climbed the marble steps two at a time and hammered my fist against the heavy oak front door three distinct times. The sound echoed through the hollow porch like a drumbeat of impending war, shattering the quiet holiday serenity of the wealthy neighborhood.
For nearly a full minute, nothing happened inside the grand foyer. Then, the heavy brass lock clicked audibly, and the door swung open to reveal our elderly family housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, wrapped in a woolen shawl.
“Daniel?” Mrs. Gable gasped, her eyes widening in sheer disbelief as she looked up at me standing under the porch light. “Good gracious, child! What are you doing here in the middle of a blizzard?”
“Good evening, Mrs. Gable,” I said politely, stepping past her before she could block the doorway. “Is my mother in her study?” The housekeeper stammered nervously, wringing her hands together as she closed the heavy door against the biting wind.
“She’s... she’s hosting a small bridge club gathering in the parlor, Daniel,” Mrs. Gable explained, her voice dropping to a nervous whisper. “She wasn't expecting any family visitors tonight, especially not without calling ahead.”
“Good. That means she has an audience,” I replied coldly, shedding my snow-covered coat and tossing it carelessly over the mahogany entryway bench. Mrs. Gable flinched at my tone, sensing the dangerous shift in my demeanor that mirrored my father’s darkest moods.
May you like
Without waiting for an invitation, I strode down the familiar high-ceilinged hallway toward the double doors of the formal parlor. Faint classical music drifted out from the room, mingling with the low murmur of wealthy socialites discussing holiday travel plans.
I raised my hand and pushed the parlor doors wide open, stepping into the warm, chandelier-lit room like a ghost returning from the grave. The conversation instantly died, replaced by a suffocating silence as all heads turned toward the entrance.
