The Third Estate by D.R. Berlin

Secrets of the Manor

When a brilliant young pilot uncovers a deadly conspiracy, she becomes the next target in a game she never agreed to play.

Sophie Allard has spent her life earning her wings at one of the military’s most elite academies. But when her estranged father dies in a mysterious explosion at their family estate, Sophie’s world shatters. The official story doesn’t add up—and the deeper she digs, the more dangerous the truth becomes.

Her investigation exposes a hidden network known only as The Third Estate—a shadow organization manipulating power at the highest levels of government, industry, and defense. Now, Sophie is being hunted by the same assassin who killed an innocent woman years earlier…and by the elusive figure known as the Grey Lady, whose reach extends far beyond the battlefield.

Caught between loyalty and survival, Sophie must navigate a maze of espionage, betrayal, and buried family secrets before time runs out.

The Third Estate is an intelligent, high-stakes thriller packed with espionage, family intrigue, and relentless suspense.

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Excerpt from The Third Estate © Copyright 2025 D.R. Berlin

Chapter 1

Thunderstorms prevented Kai Lovac’s flight from arriving on time at the Denver airport. He stared out the window at the fast-approaching tarmac, a welcome break from refreshing the in-flight Wi-Fi on his cell phone. Eternally unresponsive. The airplane taxied to the terminal at 9:00 a.m., ten minutes behind schedule. With the cramped legroom, constant jostling for elbow space with his fellow passenger, and being last on the standby list to board, Lovac cursed the mechanic who couldn’t repair his private plane in time.

He switched his phone off airplane mode. A litany of notifications assaulted his screen. One grabbed his attention: Local accident on Airport Road. Car won’t arrive in time. Sedan reserved at Savvy Rental counter. Usual details.

I’m never late, he thought. Never.

He deplaned via a portable stairway, nodding to the flight attendant who wished him a pleasant day. He checked the reservation on his phone and reviewed his itinerary.

A change. Why the new locker number?

Lovac merged onto the concourse train with his fellow travelers and exited at the central terminal. He proceeded up the escalator. After clearing a security checkpoint, he weaved in between the arriving and departing passengers. He blended into the background, always acutely aware of the people, objects, and circumstances of his surroundings.

The crowd thinned as Lovac traveled through baggage claim and approached the car rental area. He slowed his stride to study his environment. Six wall-mounted cameras and corner mirrors covered every angle.

Continuous surveillance. Security office must be nearby.

He passed two guards chatting near the exit. Their backs to the rental counter, they focused their attention on the TV monitor on the far wall. ESPN commentators, involved in a spirited discussion of the upcoming football season, drowned the murmur from customers waiting in line.

Not a threat.

He continued his evaluation as he joined the line.

Ten feet from the counter to the exit. Four seconds to escape at full sprint. Five if anyone is in my way.

Eleven people waited ahead of him, from elderly couples to young families with small children. Although no imminent issues had emerged, Lovac couldn’t shake his apprehension and hyper-vigilance. He studied the itinerary, calculated his movements, and weighed various options to shave time off his schedule. Without exception, he always kept to his schedule.

As a relaxing mental exercise, Lovac analyzed the two middle-aged employees at the counter, both more interested in their cell phones than the customers. He studied their mannerisms, posture, and reactions. The first, taller than her colleague, was five feet four, thirty-eight pounds overweight, dark complexion, with peroxide-blond shoulder-length hair pulled back. Her false eyelashes made her blue contacts pop.

She spoke with a thick New York accent. Bronx, Westchester Avenue area.

Strands of the second employee’s black hair had escaped her knotted braid and extended in every direction. She skewered her chewing gum with a six-inch-long acrylic nail and wrapped the gum in a tissue.

Nails: red. Right hand third fingernail chipped, fourth fingernail missing.

Her statements sounded like questions. California—Los Angeles.

The progress of the line slowed, and Lovac’s patience thinned. Someone tapped his shoulder from behind. Lovac tensed and turned to face a stout elderly woman peering up at him. “Could you help me with my bag?” she asked. “I can’t get it closed.”

With the skill and precision of a surgeon, Lovac manipulated the zipper and closed the suitcase.

“Thank you for your help. Business or pleasure?” She tightened the double knot of her fluffy bow used to differentiate her suitcase from the others.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you traveling for business or pleasure? I’m heading to the Springs to visit my grandchildren.”

He pressed his lips together for a moment. “Business,” he said quietly.

The woman removed a bag from her purse and popped a few peanuts in her mouth. “Do you travel a lot for your job?”

Lovac turned slightly, trying to avoid eye contact. “Some.”