Page 20 of Bombshell

The guard flips through a couple of pages on his clipboard before replying, “I have you here, Mr. Eaton. Go ahead.”

When we reach the front door Cyrus presses the buzzer, and the door opens immediately. Felix, the Windfall butler, has apparently been waiting for us.

“Please come in, gentleman,” the old man says, but only out of obligation. It’s clear he would rather I never come in these doors again.

I wonder what they told him about me. I wonder how hard he’ll make it for me to see Adair. I wonder if I’m the first person who ever cared what Felix the Butler thinks.

“May I ask the reason for your call today?” he says, scrupulously—but emptily—polite, as only people in the South can manage.

“We’re here to see Adair,” Cyrus says, shooting me a sideways glance that tells me something about the exchange seems off to him.

“I’ve been instructed not to admit any visitors for Miss MacLaine,” Felix says. “She is not well.”

“Look, I need to speak with her.” I’m not above begging. She has to know what her father did, because she’s my last hope to make this right. “It’s urgent. I’ve tried calling her, but she doesn’t answer.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t want to speak with you at present.” He catches the look on my face, and a glimmer of sympathy seems to change his mind. “But I will ask her myself, since the matter is urgent.”

Felix stalks off, leaving Cyrus and me in Windfall’s foyer, a cavernous room ending in a grand staircase right out of The Sound of Music.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Sterling,” Cyrus mutters.

Did I really think it would be easy once we got here? I wonder how long we have before security comes to eject us. “What should we do?”

“The butler said he had ‘instructions.’ That can only mean one thing.”

I might not speak affluence, but I don’t need him to translate. “Angus MacLaine told him not to let us in.”

“Exactly.” Cyrus sighs heavily. “The best I can do is tell them you went to the bathroom, try to buy you some time.”

I hustle up the stairs , but just as I reach the doors leading to one of the building’s two residential wings, they open. A man in a cheap, navy blue security uniform holds his hand up to me in the universal sign for halt.

From behind him, a silver-haired, botoxed, spray-tanned man I’ve never seen before emerges. “Mr. Ford. Miss MacLaine is not accepting visitors. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

I hear movement behind me, and I turn to see a security guard appear at every exit leading from the foyer. An icy hand grabs my arm like a vise, and I realize I might never be able to see Adair again. But she hasn’t chosen this. She wouldn’t—not without at least talking to me first.

“Adair!” I yell. “Adair! Come and talk to me! Do you know what your rat-bastard father did?

“Mr. Ford,” the silver-haired man says. “I’m counsel for the MacLaine family—”

“Great. Another lawyer.”

“You’ve been asked to leave. If you don’t walk out those doors in the next 60 seconds I guarantee you will be arrested for trespassing. Mr. Eaton as well.”

My eyes flash to Cyrus, and he nods toward the door with a wild look in his eyes.

“Adair,” I yell one last time, closing my eyes to concentrate, straining for some sound that she’s nearby. Can I hear her coming? I just need the smallest hint I should wait and risk it. If I can talk to Adair, if I can tell her what her dad has done, I know she’ll help me fight it.

But she doesn’t come. And there’s no way she didn’t hear me. Her room is maybe 50 steps away. They could probably hear me at the main gate. If she’s not coming, that can only mean one thing.

I feel a hand on my arm, and I react reflexively, slipping the grasp and shoving with all my strength. The security guard stumbles backward, and I see a small spray canister appear in his hand. I square my shoulders, preparing to tackle him.

“Sterling!” Cyrus’s voice cuts through the blood pumping in my skull. “This is only going to get worse. Let’s go!”

The security guard aims whatever it is he has in his hand, and I force my feet to start moving toward the stairs.

“You are no longer welcome at Windfall,” the lawyer says. “If you are found on premises again, we will have you arrested. I hope I’ve made everything clear?”

“Crystal fucking clear,” I snap over my shoulder, throwing open the front door of the manor so hard it blows through its doorstop with a sharp, wooden crack.