The Belial Stone(36)

“You’ll find the Chandler Group has their fingers in a lot of pies. We just tend to keep that quiet.

“What about the security personnel?” Patrick asked, glancing at the security outpost by the front gate

“We have twenty full-time individuals in the security force. All former military. They continually monitor both the buildings and grounds.”

Giving her uncle’s shoulder a squeeze, Laney said, “Well, as far as safety goes, I don’t think we could do any better.”

Patrick looked over his shoulder at her. “I have to agree.” He smiled, but Laney could read the concern in his eyes.

“We’ll be okay, Uncle Patrick.”

He reached back and patted her hand, but didn’t reply.

Laney watched him for a moment, struggling to come up with something to say that would reduce his fears. She was at loss. How could you convince someone they were safe when a man with incredible fighting and healing skills might still be after them? Answer: You couldn’t.

Shoving her concerns aside, she focused on the scenery. It was a surprisingly easy task.

“This place is something out of storybook,” she said, as they turned onto the tree-lined main drive and drove for another half mile.

The cart finally came to a halt at a large circular drive in front of the main house. A giant fountain of marble and gold adorned the center of the drive.

Stepping out, the full view of the main house left her awestruck yet again. It had been modeled after Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello estate, but built on a much larger scale. The brick mansion towered three stories high, with pillars supporting the rounded roof. The windows were adorned with heavy black shutters.

Laney stopped counting the windows when she reached twenty. She glanced at her uncle as he walked up the marble steps next to her. “Cozy, huh?”

He grinned back at her. “Yup. Just a cozy little country cottage.”

Relief flowed through her at the sight of his smile. She stepped into the house feeling lighter. And it was like she was stepping back in time. A giant crystal chandelier hung in the front entryway. It highlighted the three-story circular staircase and the polished black and white marble tiles. The white wainscoting and crown molding of the entryway stood in stark contrast to the deep hunter green of the walls.

The home had, of course, all the modern conveniences. They were all cleverly hidden, though, so as not to distract from the historical beauty. Light switches were found on the underside of chair rails, and outlets and heating ducts were similarly hidden within the architecture of the walls. An elevator had even been built into the wall and covered with paneling. It was accessed through a switch plate also hidden.

Laney gaped as she turned a full circle in the entry hall.

“Pretty nice, huh?” Jake asked, a smile playing across his lips.

“Nice? My little vegetable garden is nice. This place is…”

“Phenomenal?” her uncle offered.

She grinned. “That'll work.”

Jake led them up the stairs. He’d offered the elevator, but Laney wanted to see more of the place. After checking out the second floor, they arrived at Henry’s office. It took up a full third of the top floor.

Jake led them through the two large oak doors. Built-in bookcases dominated the room, covering every inch of three walls. A quick perusal offered a glimpse of first-edition literary masterpieces – James Joyce, Mark Twain, and Ernest Hemingway – as well as tomes on a range of international issues. The back wall, however, was entirely made of glass, offering a spectacular view of the rolling hills of the estate.

Situated directly in front of the windows was the biggest desk Laney had ever seen. Made of handcrafted mahogany, it was L-shaped. On closer inspection, she noticed cherubs painstakingly crafted into the trim. There were also three sleek leather chairs positioned in front of it.

The other side of the room had a large conference table, capable of seating twelve.

“Just like my office at the University,” she said.

Patrick stared out the windows at the lush back lawn. “I can’t believe this is actually a place of business.”

“Henry believes that a good environment means a productive environment,” Jake replied.

“Well, then this must be the most productive place on the planet,” Laney said.

“I like to think so,” said a voice behind her.

“Hey, Henry,” Jake said.

Laney turned to see the elusive Henry Chandler, the man Forbes magazine had dubbed the most analytical thinker of his generation. He walked toward her and she gaped yet again. Casually dressed in a light blue oxford and jeans, she noted his unusual eyes. They were a rich violet, an arresting combination with his pitch black hair.