She jumps, hand flying to her chest. “God, Kai. You scared me.”
“You’re too easy to scare.” I move into the room and close her laptop. “Break time.”
“I’m in the middle of?—”
“Whatever it is can wait.” I pull her to her feet. “You’ve been working nonstop for days. You need to actually see this place instead of just living in it.”
She tries to reach for her laptop. “I really should finish this presentation?—”
“Nope.” I keep myself between her and the desk. “I’m kidnapping you for the afternoon. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“On an adventure.” I grin. “Trust me.”
She hesitates, then sighs. “Fine. But if your father asks why his marketing strategy is late?—”
“I’ll take full responsibility.” I offer my arm. “Now come on. There’s a whole estate you haven’t explored yet.”
She takes my arm, and we head out of the library.
“I’ve seen most of the main areas,” she says as we walk.
“You’ve seen the public areas. The stuff we show guests.” I lead her down a hallway she probably didn’t know existed. “But this place has secrets. Layers. You just have to know where to look.”
We reach a section of wood paneling that looks like every other wall in this wing. I press a specific spot, and a hidden door clicks open.
Her eyes widen. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“Secret passage.” I gesture for her to enter. “After you.”
She steps through, and I follow, closing the door behind us.
The passage is narrow, lit by the same emergency lighting as the tunnel system. It winds through the walls of the estate, connecting different wings in ways the original architect designed for servants to move unseen.
“This is insane,” Samantha says, trailing her fingers along the stone walls. “How many of these passages are there?”
“Dozens. Maybe more. Dad’s still finding new ones.” I lead her deeper. “The estate was built in 1887 by a guy named TheodoreBlackwell. He made his fortune in silver mining and decided to build himself a mountain palace.”
“1887? This place is over a hundred years old?”
“Yeah. Blackwell was paranoid as hell. Built all these passages so he could move around without being seen. Secret rooms where he hid his silver. Underground tunnels connecting to the mines.” I push open another hidden door, and we emerge into a section of the estate she definitely hasn’t seen. “He died in 1903, and the place sat empty for decades. Changed hands a bunch of times. Nobody wanted to maintain it.”
We’re in what used to be a ballroom. High ceilings, enormous windows, dusty chandeliers. It’s being renovated slowly, but you can still see the original grandeur.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathes.
“Dad bought it in the late nineties. Place was falling apart. Roof leaked. Foundation was cracked. Everyone said he was crazy to take it on.” I lean against one of the windows. “But he saw potential. Spent five years restoring the original structure and another three building the modern resort sections. This ballroom is one of the last rooms he’s working on.”
“Why did he want it so badly?”
“He never really said. But I think he liked the idea of taking something broken and making it great again.” I push off the window. “Come on. There’s more.”
I take her through room after room. The old library with floor-to-ceiling shelves still full of Blackwell’s books. The wine cellar that goes down three levels. The conservatory where Blackwell’s wife grew orchids.
Samantha’s fascinated by all of it, asking questions, running her hands over original architectural details, genuinely interested in the history.
“Blackwell had a daughter,” I tell her as we walk through what used to be the family quarters. “She died young. Scarlet fever. After that, his wife lost her mind. Spent the last years of her life wandering these halls talking to ghosts.”
