Page 38 of When You're Alone

A cold shiver ran down Finn’s spine. “Rigged how?”

Jeremy rubbed his temple, shame clouding his features. “We… they used signals. When someone had a good hand, they’d give a sign—could be a cough, or a way they tapped their chips. Terrance had no clue. We manipulated him, keeping him in the game just enough that his gambling addiction would take over, and he’d keep going when he should have walked away. He kept raising, thinking his skill might carry him. But whenever he had a potentially winning hand, at least one of us folded, so he’d get only scraps. And whenever he was on the losing end, the rest went full tilt to drain him dry.”

“So the game was set up to make him lose everything,” Finn said quietly. “To ruin him.”

Jeremy let out a shaky laugh that bordered on tears. "More than ruin. By the end of that night, Terrance Mansfield lost every last penny. The largest single-night loss in the Monarch's history. And we were proud at the time. Thought we taught him a lesson."

Finn’s heart pounded. “What became of him?”

“No one knows,” Jeremy replied, shoulders slumping. “He disappeared afterward. We tried to find him—some of us felt guilty, especially Sir Richard and Marcus… but it was too late. Mansfield had vanished from the face of the Earth. Rumor was he might have changed his name or… or worse.” He swallowed painfully. “I always wondered if he died out there, destitute. Or if he…” Jeremy’s eyes flickered with dread. “If he decided to come back when the time was right.”

A moment’s quiet weighed heavily on them. Finn carefully broached the question echoing in his mind. “You think Terrance Mansfield might’ve returned… for revenge?”

Jeremy gazed at him, jaw quivering. “Sometimes I do. Especially now, with Sir Richard and Wardlowdead.” He lowered his voice. “And that might only be the beginning…”

Before Finn could press further, the door to the study swung abruptly wider. James Rutherford stood in the doorway, dark eyes blazing. “That’senough,Jeremy. You shouldnotbe discussing this!” His voice reverberated through the small room, fueled by alarm and anger.

A sudden draft ruffled the heavy curtains at the study’s window, as if a storm had just blown in. The lamplight flickered, casting elongated shadows across Rutherford’s tall frame.

Jeremy’s face went pale. “I— James, I was just—”

“You’redrunk,” Rutherford snapped, stepping forward. “And you’re spouting nonsense.”

But Jeremy recoiled from the confrontation, stumbling to his feet. “He’ll come for us all in the end! Two of us are dead already!” he shouted, seeming half-mad with fear or guilt. “You can’t hide the past forever!”

Before Rutherford could restrain him, Jeremy bolted out of the study, shoulder-checking Rutherford in passing. The older man staggered, briefly off-balance. Finn leaped to his feet, heart thundering. He needed to follow Jeremy, but Rutherford blocked the way with a furious glare.

“You—Devlin—don’t pry into matters that don’t concern you,” Rutherford growled.

Finn dodged around him, ignoring the outburst. He dashed into the corridor just in time to see Jeremy disappearing around the corner. “Jeremy! Wait!” he called, swift footsteps echoing behind him as he gave chase.

He followed Jeremy’s stumbling silhouette through a maze of hallways, past gilded mirrors and darkened parlors. Despite his drunken state, Jeremy moved with surprising speed, fear propelling him. Each turn Finn took revealed another deserted corridor, and soon he was half-certain Jeremy was leading him deeper into an older, seldom-used part of the club.

At last, Jeremy shoved open a narrow door at the end of a hall and vanished inside. Finn lunged forward, grabbing the handle. Pausing to steady his breathing, he pushed the door open and stared down. A stone staircase descended into darkness, the faint smell of damp stone wafting upward.

Finn clicked on his pocket flashlight, the beam stabbing into the murk. The stairs spiraled downward into a space he hadn’t realized existed—a hidden basement or sub level, untouched by the renovated grandeur above. The silence from below was profound, as though the bowels of the building lived in another century.

A crackle sounded in his earpiece. Amelia’s voice, urgent:“What’s happening? Where are you?”

Finn peered over the edge of the first step. “Jeremy’s gone down into some kind of basement. I didn’t even know the club had lower levels like this.”

“I’ll get some backup—”

“No,” Finn hissed into the tiny mic near his collar. “Don’t. Not yet. If you swarm the place, it’ll blow my cover. I’ll handle it. Just… stand by.”

“Finn…”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised. Then he exhaled, bracing himself.

The flashlight’s narrow beam trembled on the steps, revealing cracked stone walls and old iron handrails. The deeper he looked, the more oppressive the darkness seemed, as though beckoning him into the club’s buried secrets. Jeremy was somewhere below, perhaps consumed by liquor and regret—and maybe in mortal danger if a killer truly roamed these halls, seeking to silence those who knew too much.

Finn steeled himself, one hand resting on the door frame, the other keeping the flashlight trained forward. “All right,” he muttered under his breath, the murk swallowing his words. “Let’s see just how deep this all goes.”

He set his foot on the top stair and began to descend. The door swung shut behind him with a soft thud, leaving the corridor, and the world above, silent once more.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Finn’s breath rasped in his ears as he descended into the Monarch Club’s hidden basement, flashlight bobbing a jittery path through the darkness. The narrow stone steps spiraled downward, damp air brushing over his cheeks. With every step, an uneasy prickle climbed his spine. He paused briefly, glancing behind him at the door he’d left ajar above—a distant rectangle of faint light.Am I out of my mind, going down here alone?he wondered, heart hammering at the thought. The memory of Jeremy Ford’s panicked flight spurred him on, but a voice in his head warned that only trouble lay ahead in the labyrinth.

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