The Silent Guest

Chapter Three

Wind lashed at the front doors of the Goodman mansion as Detective Rachel Kennedy stepped onto the porch. Her coat flared behind her like a cape, rain soaking her cuffs as she approached the front gate, where a lone figure stood under the flickering security lights.

The man looked to be in his late twenties. Tall. Dark-haired. Hands shoved in his coat pockets, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of the hood. As the gate creaked open, he raised his head—and Rachel's instincts immediately went on high alert.

His eyes were sharp. Not frightened. Not grief-stricken. Alert. Calculating.

"You must be Adam Goodman" she said.

A nod. "I heard about Laura. I came as soon as I could."

"You didn't call ahead."

"I didn't think I needed to. This is—was—my home."

"Strange, considering no one's heard your name until now."

Adam exhaled slowly, the mist of his breath curling in the air. "I didn't exactly grow up at the mansion. I lived with my mother. Laura and I… we weren't close."

Rachel led him inside. "Then why show up tonight?"

"She sent me a message."

Lana froze mid-step. "What kind of message?"

He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope—sealed with a smear of what looked like damp wax. He handed it over without flinching.

Rachel slit it open carefully. Inside: a single sheet of paper.

"If anything happens to me, don't trust anyone. Not even her. Go to the red room. You'll know what to do."

No signature. No date.

Rachel stared at him. "Who's her?"

Adam's jaw clenched. "I thought she meant our aunt. But now? I'm not so sure."

"Which aunt?"

"Victoria Goodman. Richard and Victor's younger sister. She used to live in Europe—only came back last year. Laura said she was digging around in family affairs again."

Rachel took mental note. Another Goodman. Another secret. "What's the red room?"

Adam looked up at the chandelier. "You've already been in it, haven't you?"

"The locked study at the end of the hall?"

He nodded. "That's where my father died. They told me he had a heart attack. But the stories never made sense. Too many loose ends."

Rachel crossed her arms. "You expect me to believe you just showed up, out of nowhere, with an envelope and a cryptic warning? After being hidden from the public eye for what, two decades?"

Adam's gaze didn't waver. "No. I expect you to read the rest of the letter Laura left with her lawyer. Because I'm not the villain here. Someone else is. And they've been waiting a long time for this night."

Before Rachel could respond, a sudden crash echoed from upstairs—wood splintering, glass shattering.

Rachel drew her weapon instantly. "Stay here."

She bolted up the staircase, Lambert close behind. The sound had come from the east wing—a wing no one had entered all night.

They reached a door—blasted open, hinges still swinging. Inside was an old bedroom, layered in dust… and a shattered mirror on the floor.

But what caught Rachel's eye wasn't the destruction.

It was the fresh set of muddy footprints across the floor—smaller than Adam's, lighter. Leading out… toward the servant stairwell.

She turned back, heart pounding.

Someone else was in the mansion.

Still playing the game.

Still one step ahead.