Chapter 88: The Fake Map
Torin reached into the breast pocket of his sheepskin coat, pulling out a stub of yellow carpenter chalk he had snatched from the maintenance bench in the basement. He dropped onto one knee on the cold marble floor, resting the twelve gauge shotgun across his thighs while the armed men closed ranks around him in a tight semicircle. The freezing draft whistling through the cracked foyer doors stirred the dry powder on the stone, but Torin held the chalk firm, dragging the broad edge across the gray tiles with a harsh screech.
He drew a wide rectangle across the floorboards, marking the outer perimeter of Alderwood Manor with heavy, deliberate strokes.
"Pay attention to the geometry," Torin said, looking up at Councilman Thomas and the former corporate litigators
