Chapter 3 - The Dead Woman’s WarningGrace left work early by claiming Eli had a medical appointment.
“Mommy?”
The child instantly flinched.
His eyes flew toward the security camera above the hallway.
He pressed both hands over his mouth.
Grace understood.
He had not lost the ability to speak.
At least not completely.
He had been afraid to.
She curled her fingers around the memory card and whispered, “I won’t tell anyone yet.”
Noah studied her face.
Grace didn’t know whether a four-year-old could understand a promise like that.
Apparently, he could.
His grip loosened.
Then footsteps sounded from somewhere downstairs.
Noah panicked.
He shoved Grace backward, ran toward his room, and disappeared before Mrs. Caldwell rounded the corner.
“What are you doing here?”
Grace lifted the laundry basket.
“Sheets from the guest rooms.”
Mrs. Caldwell looked at the locked east-wing door.
“That area is forbidden after ten.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You do now.”
Mrs. Caldwell walked away.
Grace waited until she disappeared.
Then she slipped the memory card into her bra.
She did not sleep that night.
At six the next morning, she finished her shift and took two buses back to the tiny apartment she shared with Eli on Chicago’s northwest side.
Eli was sitting at the kitchen table doing algebra homework when she arrived.
His skin looked too pale.
“You’re late.”
“Good morning to you too.”
He smiled.
Grace kissed the top of his head.
“You take your medication?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“I’m your sister.”
“You’ve been acting eighty since you were nineteen.”
Grace tried to smile.
Their mother had died when Grace was twenty.
Their father had been gone long before that.
For six years, Grace had been sister, guardian, driver, cook, bill collector, and emergency contact.
Eli pointed toward the refrigerator.
Another hospital envelope was attached by a magnet.
Grace’s stomach tightened.
She opened it.
Outstanding patient responsibility: $38,740.
The surgery date could only be secured after the payment plan was finalized.
Grace closed her eyes.
Thirty-eight thousand dollars might have been loose change inside Dominic Vale’s mansion.
Here, it was impossible.
“What’s wrong?” Eli asked.
“Nothing.”
“You make that face when something is wrong.”
“I make this face when you leave cereal bowls in the sink.”
“I washed it.”
“You rinsed it.”
“That’s basically washing.”
Grace laughed despite herself.
Later, after Eli left for school, she inserted Noah’s memory card into an old laptop.
Nothing happened.
The card appeared empty.
Grace almost felt relief.
Then she noticed the storage indicator.
Seven gigabytes used.
Hidden files.
She called the only person she trusted with computers.
Marcus Reed, her former community college classmate, now repaired phones and laptops from a narrow storefront beside a laundromat.
An hour later, Marcus stared at the screen.
“This card was encrypted.”
“Can you open it?”
“Maybe.”
“How long?”
He looked at her.
“Who gave you this?”
“A kid.”
“A kid who works for the CIA?”
“Marcus.”
“Fine.”
He typed.
“I’ll try.”
Grace returned to the Vale estate at noon.
The atmosphere had changed.
A new nanny had arrived.
Number nineteen.
Her name was Rebecca Sloan, thirty-two, professionally trained, references from two diplomatic families.
She lasted forty-seven minutes.
Grace heard the crash from the dining room.
By the time she reached Noah’s bedroom, Rebecca was screaming.
Noah was beneath a desk.
A shattered lamp lay beside him.
Rebecca held her wrist.
“He threw it at me!”
“Noah!” Dominic shouted.
The child screamed and kicked.
Rebecca stepped closer.
Noah bit her.
Hard.
She slapped him.
The room went silent.
Dominic’s expression changed.
“You just hit my son.”
“He bit me!”
“Leave.”
“Mr. Vale—”
“Now.”
Rebecca stormed out.
Noah remained under the desk, shaking.
Dominic crouched several feet away.
“Noah.”
No response.
“I’m not angry.”
The child wouldn’t look at him.
Grace stood near the doorway.
Something bothered her.
The broken lamp had landed nowhere near Rebecca.
Noah had not thrown it at her.
He had thrown it toward the wall.
Toward another camera.
Grace stepped closer.
“Mr. Vale?”
Dominic turned.
“I think he was aiming at the camera.”
Dominic stared at the shattered camera casing.
Dr. Mercer, who had arrived during the chaos, shook his head.
“Grace, please don’t reinforce obsessive behavior.”
She looked at him.
“I wasn’t.”
“Children recovering from trauma sometimes fixate on objects.”
Noah heard his voice.
His entire body went rigid.
Grace noticed.
So did Dominic.
“Nathan,” Dominic said slowly, “he reacts differently when you’re here.”
Dr. Mercer smiled patiently.
“Because I represent treatment.”
Noah crawled backward beneath the desk.
His breathing accelerated.
Mercer took a step forward.
Noah screamed.
Grace dropped to her knees.
“Stop.”
Mercer frowned.
“Excuse me?”
“He’s scared.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Grace looked at Dominic.
“He’s scared of him.”
Nobody spoke.
Mercer’s face tightened.
“That is an irresponsible assumption.”
Dominic stared at Grace.
“What makes you say that?”
Because Noah gave me a hidden memory card.
Because he spoke.
Because he pointed toward cameras and his dead mother.
Grace almost said everything.
But she remembered Noah’s terror.
Watch.
Quiet.
So she answered carefully.
“Because when Mrs. Sloan approached him, he was angry. When Dr. Mercer approached, he looked terrified.”
Mercer laughed softly.
“You’re a housemaid.”
Grace felt the insult.
Dominic apparently did too.
“She’s also standing here with eyes,” he said.
Mercer went silent.
That evening, Grace found Noah in the kitchen.
He sat beneath the island eating crackers.
Grace sat ten feet away.
She did not approach him.
For several minutes, neither moved.
Then she placed a sheet of paper on the floor.
Beside it, crayons.
Noah stared.
Grace drew a terrible elephant.
The corner of Noah’s mouth moved.
“It’s supposed to be an elephant.”
He looked offended on behalf of elephants.
Grace drew herself.
Then Noah.
Then Dominic.
Noah crawled closer.
He picked up a black crayon.
Grace stayed still.
He drew a large rectangle.
A car.
Inside, three stick figures.
One small.
One woman.
One man.
Grace pointed.
“Daddy?”
Noah violently shook his head.
He colored over the man’s face.
Black.
Then drew another figure outside the car.
Dominic.
Grace’s skin prickled.
Dominic had not been in the vehicle when Elena died.
That was public knowledge.
The official story said Elena had taken Noah sightseeing while Dominic remained at their hotel for meetings.
Noah drew a cliff.
The car.
A man.
Then red lines.
He dropped the crayon.
Grace whispered, “Was someone else in the car?”
Noah began rocking.
She stopped immediately.
“Okay. No more.”
Her phone vibrated.
Marcus.
She answered in the pantry.
“I got into the first folder.”
Grace pressed the phone to her ear.
“What is it?”
“Video.”
“Of what?”
Silence.
“Marcus?”
His voice changed.
“Grace, I think you need to come see this.”
She looked through the pantry doorway.
Noah sat on the floor.
Watching her.
Marcus lowered his voice.
“There’s a woman in the video.”
Grace already knew.
“Elena Vale?”
“I think so.”
“And?”
“She’s hiding the camera.”
Grace gripped the counter.
“What does she say?”
May you like
Marcus hesitated.
“She says if anything happens to her, the person responsible works inside the Vale house.”
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