The Belial Stone (The Belial Series #1)(34)
Laney felt her face grow hot. “You carried me?”
Jake grinned. “We’re a full-service enterprise, here at Chandler.”
“Great,” she mumbled.
A few minutes later, her embarrassment was a distant memory as she looked on with amazement at the grounds. Nestled into the rolling hills of the Maryland countryside, the headquarters sat on five hundred acres.
“Henry appreciates privacy and history,” Jake explained. “He wanted his headquarters to reflect that. So, instead of situating his headquarters in the middle of a city, he renovated the family estate into his work center.”
Henry Chandler’s “appreciation” for privacy was a well-known fact. He’d never been photographed by the press. Only seen from a distance. His client list, believed to be a who’s who of world leaders, was a closely guarded secret. And his projects were equally hush-hush. Word got out occasionally, though, and helped build a reputation for cutting-edge thinking and innovation.
Jake pointed to the eight-foot iron fence that surrounded the property. “While Henry might appreciate the past, there’s nothing outdated about his security measures. That fence not only has video cameras, but pressure sensors that record even the slightest amount of applied force. If a sensor is triggered, a security unit is immediately dispatched.
Laney was struck by the familiarity of the design. “Just like the fence separating the West Bank and Israel.”
“Actually, this fence was the prototype for that fence, although we’ve kept that information under wraps.
“You’re kidding,” Laney said. She’d been to the Israeli fence. It was quite an undertaking. It had also been quite effective at reducing the number of suicide bombers traveling from the disputed lands into Israel. She’d never, however, read anything about the Chandler Group’s involvement.
“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.