The Whaley House Novels & Stories

“It doesn’t work like that. Stop being so scared. If anything, he should be scared of you, not the other way around.” “We are back to the authority speech? Like my numerous attempts have shown, that plan hasn’t been very successful.” “Fine then, here is what you need to do. Go to Whitfield. The answers you seek lie there.” “Good, now where is Whitfield? “I have no idea.” What?! “I haven’t stepped foot out of this house in a hundred years, and even from the windowsill, I can tell that a lot has changed. I only know that the estate belongs to the Whitfield family, but only William lives there now. The mages of old locked him in his family’s estate after he set his entire family ablaze almost t

“The dock is just over here.” The large white house sat near the beach. It was more mansion than house, but that suited Wyatt's plans. The house originally belonged to a media mogul. There were more rooms than Wyatt knew what to do with, three pools, a mini-golf course, miles of beach, and a professional grade kitchen. Wyatt docked the boat and secured it. As he was finishing, a man with a broad smile walked down the dock to greet them. “Mr. Landers, I presume?” the man called.

"I need you at the office managing the board situation while I handle this. If you come to me I have two problems instead of one." A pause. "Find her," Elias said quietly. "I will." He hung up. Hale called back in ninety seconds. "Three properties," Hale said. "Two warehouses and a private residence in the Meatpacking District under a shell company. The residence is the one. He'd want containment and access control. The warehouses are too open right now with everything moving." "Address." Hale gave it. "Eyes on it in the next ten minutes," Damien said. "Already sending someone."

I type back: Where? The reply arrives before I can exhale. The Whitney. Tomorrow. Noon. The Whitney. The old lumber baron's mansion on Woodward, the one with the stained glass dome and the ghost stories. Every Detroiter knows the Whitney. They say the original owner's wife still wanders the upstairs hallways. I've walked past it a thousand times and never stepped through the doors. "She selected the Whitney," Julian says. "Public. Conspicuous. She's not concealing herself."