What I Found Beneath the Sink

“Then we call the FBI!”

Eli’s urgency matched the pounding in my chest, but the clock on the wall said 4:35 PM. “By the time they assess the tip and get a bomb team moving, it could be after six-thirty. Richard won’t wait for them to reach the house. The second he spots police cars coming up the drive, he’ll set it off ahead of schedule.”

“Claire, everyone inside, the evidence—he’ll destroy all of it,” I said. “I have to go back.”

Eli looked at me as if I’d just announced I planned to walk into a fire. “Marcus, if you go back there, you’re stepping into the trap he built for you. You could be killed.”

“He thinks I’m still running,” I replied, snatching my keys from his desk. “He doesn’t know I erased the laptop.”

I told him Richard probably imagined me hiding in some motel, terrified that the police were after me. He wouldn’t expect me to return to the estate.

“I can blend in with the catering crews,” I said. “I’ll get Claire and Lily out before six. Then I’ll get the staff evacuated. Once the house is empty, Richard can blow it up, and the fraud investigators can sift through what’s left.”

Eli shook his head, then tossed a second set of keys toward me. “Your van is too easy to recognize. Take my car—the beat-up gray Honda behind the building.” He held my gaze. “Be careful, man.”

Half an hour later, I turned onto the shaded road that wound toward the Sterling estate. The quiet, immaculate neighborhood seemed to belong to another world. It was hard to reconcile its calm with the panic clawing at me.

The estate gates stood open when I arrived, just as I’d hoped. Three white catering trucks crowded the circular drive, their loading platforms lowered. Staff in white shirts and black aprons hurried between them with wine crates, polished serving dishes, and towering arrangements of flowers.

I left Eli’s Honda on the roadside, well short of the entrance. Then I cut through the trees, climbed over a low stone wall, and made my way toward the back of the nearest truck.

On the passenger seat, I spotted a spare chef’s coat and a black apron. After checking that no one was watching, I put them on over my work clothes. I lifted a partly filled crate of mineral water from the truck’s lowered platform and kept my face angled down.

With the crate balanced against my shoulder, I went through the mansion’s front doors without drawing attention.

Inside, preparations were in full swing. Musicians tuned their instruments in the foyer. Servers worked over glassware in the dining room. There were so many people moving about that I became one more worker carrying supplies.

I headed toward the rear of the house, careful to avoid the main kitchen, where Richard had rigged the bomb. Then I slipped into the enormous walk-in pantry.

Claire stood beside a stainless-steel worktable, studying a clipboard. Her careful composure had begun to collapse. Her hands trembled so badly that the pen in her grip was scoring the paper.

I lowered the water crate to the floor with a thump. Claire turned sharply at the sound. “Don’t scream,” I whispered.

Her breath caught when she recognized me in the catering clothes. I kept my voice low and glanced toward the pantry entrance. “We don’t have long. Where’s Richard?”

“He left,” Claire said, her voice unsteady. “He drove away twenty minutes ago. He said he was going to pick up the governor at the airport.” She searched my face. “That’s an alibi, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said. Richard was placing himself somewhere public, ready to greet the governor while the explosion took place miles away. He meant to be far from his wife and the evidence of his crimes when everything went up.

“He’s planning to blow up the house,” I told her quietly. “There’s a remote spark igniter connected to the main gas line beneath the kitchen sink. That’s why he wanted me on the job. He’s broke, and the FBI will come for his servers tomorrow. He wants to erase the proof, claim the insurance, and make the blast look like my fault.”

Claire sagged against the pantry shelving. A tear traced through her makeup. “He’s really going to do it. He’s going to kill me.”

“He won’t,” I said, gripping her shoulders to keep her steady. “He thinks I’m far away, fleeing the blackmail scheme he planted on my computer. He has no idea I’m here.”

I explained that we could go upstairs, get Lily, and leave through the service doors at the back. Eli’s car was waiting, and we could drive straight to the FBI field office in the city. We’d give them what they needed to put Richard away.

A flicker of hope appeared in Claire’s bloodshot eyes. “Can we leave right now?”

“Yes,” I said. “We can.”