Prologue
The elevator door opened with a sharp ding, delivering Anton Volikov back to the mansion’s entryway. This was his second tour of the property.
Empty, the place echoed at an almost painful volume. It was five floors if you counted the two underground basement areas which could easily be turned into dungeons.
There were two towers: one on the west side and one on the east. Just beyond the entry hall was a large dining area and industrial kitchen. The site had a pool and space for a large gym, as well as a place that could be turned into a spa. And there was a library. And offices on the first floor. And play rooms—or rooms they would turn into play rooms. The possibilities were staggering.
He smoothed his dark suit and pivoted toward the only other person in the cavernous space. “And how many rooms did you say the house has, Phyllis?”
The real estate agent blushed every time he spoke her name. It was the accent.
Phyllis appeared to be in her fifties and was dressed in a suit the color of raspberry sorbet. She pushed a set of reading glasses up her nose as she consulted her clipboard again. She should have had it memorized by now for all the times she’d nervously glanced at it. “Forty-three, but not all of them are bedrooms.”
“Does that count the bathrooms?” Anton asked.
“No, sir.”
“And how many of the bedrooms have private bathrooms?”
“Nearly all of them, though many of the bathrooms are rather small, I’m afraid.”
“What did the previous owner use the place for?” He couldn’t imagine it was the same sordid use he and his friends had for it. At the same time, he couldn’t imagine any other use for it so far off the beaten path.
Phyllis lowered her voice as if there might be listening devices. And there would be—once Brian got his surveillance equipment set up.
“The previous owner was this eccentric billionaire. He built the place to be a murder mystery party hotel, where all the guests played the game. That’s why it was so out of the way—to add to the creepiness.”
It was out of the way all right. Anton hadn’t believed it when Lindsay had told him about this place. It had seemed almost too good to be true. The large white house sat on two hundred acres of land. It was surrounded by trees. A very long, private road led up to the house. The guys had planned to buy land and build, but here it was, all wrapped up for them already. Why fix what hadn’t been broken? Or build what already somehow miraculously existed?
“What happened? I don’t remember a murder mystery hotel.” They may be a few hours outside the city, but surely he would have heard about something like this.
“The owner died just before it was finished. That was the part I wanted to tell you. There are a few rooms on the fifth floor as well as the towers that, unfortunately, aren’t completed yet, but they don’t need much work. I’m sorry, what did you say you were you planning to use the property for?”
He hadn’t said.
“I like my space and privacy. And the price is right. I was told you would be discreet.”
“Oh, yes, sir, of course,” she said. “It’s been impossible to move. Nobody has the same vision for it or any vision for it. It just has no appeal to the right buyers, and the family is desperate to unload it and get whatever they can.”
She was babbling. She was desperate to unload it, too, which worked for him. But Anton still wasn’t sure if she’d be a loose end. Maybe it would be better to build. Safer. Quieter. No. Phyllis was independent—no agency. And from what Brian had dug up on her, she’d done deals with several unsavory characters in the past.
“Is the family local to the area?” Anton asked. Brian would wire them up with heavy surveillance spanning all edges of the property, and they’d put up an invisible perimeter fence, but it would still be best if no one remained close by who might get curious and want to spy on the new eccentric owner. It helped that it was so far from anything. Even before one reached the impossibly long private road that led to the house, it was still in the middle of nowhere.
“The family is on the other side of the country. They thought this place was a crackpot idea from the start and wanted nothing to do with it. Between you and me, I think they just want to forget it was ever built,” Phyllis said. “They’re old money. It’s embarrassing to them.”
“Who else knows about this place? I don’t want nosy locals showing up at my gate.”
“Well, he was pretty hush hush about the project. He didn’t want anyone to know about it until he was ready to open. Obviously, there were builders and such, but beyond that he was very secretive. He was a very weird guy. The family said he wouldn’t let anybody know the location and forced workers to sign non-disclosure agreements. Some say he even blindfolded them before driving them in.”
Anton rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just screwing with me. I’ve been in this country since I was sixteen. I may still have the accent but I’m as American as you. I’m not that easy to fool.” He hated how even speaking like the locals, the accent made some treat him as if he didn’t understand things.
“No, I swear it’s true! Hand to God,” Phyllis insisted. Then she started to babble again, no doubt afraid she’d lose her only hope of a sale. “So anyway, nobody really knows about it, and the few who might, have forgotten and don’t know how exactly to get here anyway. The family was so embarrassed by the project that they wouldn’t go through an agency. It’s been off the books while I worked on a list of people to approach. You weren’t on the list, so how did you find out about it?”
“I have some interesting connections,” Anton said.
“Clearly.”
He was sure Phyllis would have questioned him further if she wasn’t so eager for the nice fat commission check that would come with the unlikely sale of the isolated mansion.
“Is it going to be a problem that I’m putting the purchase through my corporation?” Anton asked. Just another layer of privacy. It wasn’t as if they could completely wipe the house off the map, but he could make it as hard as possible for people to find out anything about the buyer. He would be using a separate corporation the guys had set up—unconnected to the spa he owned in the city.
“Oh, no problem at all. I’ve handled a lot of large estate purchases bought through corporations,” she said.
Anton nodded. Black and White Industries had been the most nondescript and innocuous name they could all come up with. They’d hidden their own identities behind multiple layers of contacts—many nonexistent in reality. And nobody’s real name was on anything. It had taken some doing, but then, Anton knew a lot of interesting people. As far as Phyllis knew, Anton’s name was Alexander Aristov. And that was what he would sign on the paperwork.
He took another look around the entry hall. He had a good feeling about this place. “Get the papers together. I’m ready to move on this.”
Phyllis’s face broke into a huge smile. “Fantastic.”