Mystery Manor - Chapter One

I'm excited to share with you guys the first chapter of Mystery Manor. As I've shared before, this one is very much a novel of sorts and I'll aim to share a chapter a month of this one. Let me know in the comments what you think and I'm looking forward to sharing more of this with you all over the next few months!

Before we get into the story, I wanted to share a little dedication for this story. The idea for Mystery Manor was developed a few years ago between me and a wonderful guy from California, who will always be one of my "what could have been" guys! Jonny, this is for you!

The Invitation

It was late June, and a heatwave had tormented London for nearly four weeks. The heat had been extreme, and the city had become dusty, suffocating and unbearable.

It was nearing midnight on a Wednesday when Wyatt Harlow stumbled home from another night of excess with clients whose names he could barely remember. His tie was loose, his shirt half unbuttoned, his jacket slung over his shoulders, and his trousers even tighter than they had been earlier that day when he’d put them on.

As an investment banker, Wyatt lived a life of high stress and high indulgence. When he wasn’t in the office, or visiting clients, he was usually found in some of London’s most expensive bars and restaurants, typically schmoozing clients as he smoothly got them to hand over their money.

When Wyatt got to his expensive apartment on the edge of Regents Park, he could barely make it up the stairs to the building entrance before he fell into the elevator up to the penthouse. He’d lost track of how many glasses of wine and whisky he’d had, let alone how much food he’d had. The waistband of his trousers dug uncomfortably into his stomach, and he silently promised himself that he’d try and get to the gym the following day.

Wyatt had played rugby at university and although he still had a fairly muscular physique, his stomach had softened and rounded out a little more than he liked, not to mention that his thick rugby arse was thicker than it had previously been. The excess he indulged in with clients was taking its toll on his body and he was reaching a point where he’d need new suits if he wasn’t careful.

When Wyatt stepped through the door of his impressive apartment, he was confused to see an envelope on the floor. He hadn’t retrieved his mail for a few days and the only way there’d be an envelope on his floor was if someone had hand delivered. He bent down and picked up the embossed silver envelope and turned it over to find “Mr Wyatt Harlow” on the front in beautiful calligraphy.

“What the fuck?”

Wyatt tore open the envelope and pulled out two expensive feeling pieces of paper. He stumbled further into the room and turned on the lamp next to the sofa before dropping down to read.

Dear Mr Harlow,

You are cordially invited to attend a weekend gala at Vasquez Manor in Surrey from Thursday 26th June to Monday 30th June.

On the morning of Thursday 26th June, you will receive a package to your address which will contain your travelling outfit – this must be worn, or you will be denied entrance.

A car will arrive to collect you at 2pm sharp.

Food and accommodation will be provided free of charge for the duration of your stay, as will all clothing and toiletries.

On arrival, you will deposit your mobile phone and keys in the vault, and these will be returned to you on Monday when you leave.

You may not bring any items with you – any electronic equipment, clothing or other items will be confiscated on arrival.

We look forward to welcoming you to Vasquez Manor.

P.S. Before ignoring this invitation, it is strongly recommended that you read page two.

Wyatt stared dumbfounded at the invitation. It was the most bizarre thing he’d ever received. He’d never heard of Vasquez Manor and there was no detail at all about who was hosting the gala or why you couldn’t take anything with you.

There was absolutely no way he was wasting time with such a ridiculous event.

Feeling far more sober than he had when he arrived home, Wyatt grabbed the second sheet of paper, and as he read, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Undoubtedly, you will question why you should attend such an event, Mr Harlow. To understand why you must attend, dial the below number and enter your work ID as the password to unlock the prerecorded message.

Failure to attend the event will result in the information being shared with the media.

The mention of the media had Wyatt going immediately for his phone. He typed in the number and hit dial, his heart now hammering in his chest.

“Please enter your password to access your prerecorded message,” the robotic male voice said.

Wyatt typed in the ID he used for work and was surprised when it was accepted. How would anyone have access to that, except him, HR and IT. Was this a prank from someone at his office?

“Mr Harlow, your presence is required at the weekend gala, and failure to attend will result in us going to the media. We have substantial evidence of you stealing profit from your clients. We have full access to your accounts in the Cayman Islands, along with significantly damaging information that could result in imprisonment.”

Wyatt sank back against the sofa, unable to believe what he was hearing. How was this even possible?

“If you attend the gala and follow instructions, all evidence will be destroyed and you will be allowed to return to your life as normal, with the caveat that you will no longer be able to fleece your clients. We look forward to welcoming you to Vasquez Manor.”

As soon as the message had finished, the call disconnected and Wyatt just stared at his phone, unable to even process how the hell this had happened? He’d been so incredibly careful. How could someone have this information and how could he get it back?

Wyatt picked up the invitation again. Surely it couldn’t be as simple as just attending some gala. He’d done more weekend events than he could count. Sure, it would likely be dull and hard work, but was that all it would take for him to walk away from this without getting reported to the police?

He had no choice. He’d have to go.

He only hoped he’d be able to find out who the hell was blackmailing him!

The following morning, Wyatt called his office and made arrangements to take last minute leave for the weekend. His assistant promised to cancel all meetings until Tuesday, and he advised that he’d be uncontactable until Monday night. She seemed slightly confused by his sudden absence but obediently did as he asked.

It was around 10am when the intercom announced a delivery.

Wyatt had been half wondering if the whole thing was some sort of sick joke, but when he saw the impressively wrapped box bearing his name, he knew that the gala was definitely real.

Not wasting any of the time he had available, Wyatt tossed the package on his bed and spent the rest of the morning making calls like a madman as he tried to ensure that his Cayman Islands accounts were secure, and that there was no trail with the people he’d worked with. By the time he’d finished, he was even more confused as to how anyone could have discovered his secret.

Just after 1pm, Wyatt closed his laptop and headed for the shower. He desperately wanted the jets of hot water to blast away this horrible living nightmare, but when he emerged nearly half an hour later, the package was still lying in wait on his bed.

Wyatt opened the box and was surprised to find a light grey three-piece suit. There were no labels on it, but based on the pale pink silk lining, it was expertly made and the material felt heavenly. He also had a white shirt, a pink silk tie, black leather lace up dress shoes, sheer over the calf socks and a pair of oddly patterned black silk boxer shorts.

Wyatt held up the black silk boxers and gasped when he realised that the pattern was hundreds of tiny handcuffs and written in bold letters across the arse was the word “THIEF”.

“What the hell? I can’t wear those,” he said in disgust, throwing them on to the bed.

Wyatt moved over to his own underwear drawer, but as he opened it, he remembered the words in the invitation.

“This must be worn, or you will be denied entrance”

If he was denied entrance, then the blackmailer would likely go to the police. He couldn’t risk it. Sighing, he grabbed the silk boxers and pulled them on, the feel of the silk teasing him as it whispered over his skin. He hadn’t worn silk boxers since he was a teenager. They fit him perfectly, albeit a little tightly on the arse.

Wyatt dressed in the rest of the outfit and was amazed at how the suit had been tailored so well to his body. The waistcoat was a little snug when buttoned, and the trousers dug into his hips and hugged his arse and thighs, but the same could be said of all of the suits in his wardrobe. He tried not to think too closely about how someone might have gained his measurements and tied the laces on the dress shoes which were also a perfect fit.

He did a quick check in the mirror, adjusted his dark brown hair and headed downstairs to wait for the car.

At 1:59pm, a cream-coloured Rolls Royce pulled up to the curb and the driver got out, dressed in a black and cream uniform.

“Mr Harlow, please allow me,” he said, opening the back door.

Wyatt smiled tightly at him and ducked to get into the car, surprised to find another man sat there already. The man must have been in his mid-forties, incredibly handsome with greying hair at the temples and a little grey in his perfectly trimmed beard. He was also wearing a light grey suit, but his tie was a silvery grey.

As soon as the driver closed the door, he climbed back into the driver’s seat and immediately set off as Wyatt struggling to do up his seatbelt.

“Paul Tyrell,” the man said offering his hand to Wyatt.

“Wyatt Harlow. I didn’t know we were sharing cars to the . . . gala.”

Paul nodded. “Apparently so. Do you know much about our hosts?”

Wyatt didn’t want anyone to know that he was being blackmailed into attending, so he gave his most charming smile and nodded. “Oh yes, I’ve known them for many years. You’re in for a treat this weekend.”

Paul looked far from convinced and Wyatt wondered if he was there against his will as well. Perhaps everyone would be.

The two of them occupied themselves on their phones for the rest of the journey, both keeping busy to avoid thinking about what awaited them when they arrived.

“Welcome to Vasquez Manor, gentleman,” the driver said as they drove through huge iron gates and down a long gravel driveway.

Wyatt looked out of the window at the beautifully manicured lawns and hedges as the car went along the seemingly never-ending driveway. Eventually they reached a huge marble fountain that sat in the middle of the driveway, just ahead of an enormous manor house with what looked like three or four different buildings. There were already two cars like theirs waiting at the front entrance, with several men stood waiting.

“Here goes nothing,” Paul said under his breath.

The driver opened the door and both Wyatt and Paul stepped out of the car.

“Mr Harlow, Mr Tyrell, a pleasure to welcome you to Vasquez Manor.”

The man who came over to them was dressed like an old English butler and gave both of them a warm smile and a handshake.

“Now that you’re here, we can begin introductions. Gentleman, please follow me.”

The butler headed through the huge double doors and Wyatt looked around at the other five men that were all wearing identical suits with different coloured silk ties. He had no idea what was going on, but he had an uncomfortable feeling that this gala weekend wouldn’t be quite as simple as he’d expected.