Chapter 2 - THE LOCKED ROOM
Noah screamed.
I pulled his face against my shoulder before he could see more.
“Take him to the library,” Ethan barked.
“I’m not leaving him.”
“Claire.”
“I said no.”
Ethan turned.
For half a second, the room belonged to the version of him people whispered about.
The man who had broken criminal organizations.
The man prosecutors could never touch.
The man who allegedly made people disappear.
Then Noah whispered, “Dad?”
Ethan’s expression changed.
“Go with Claire,” he said softly.
I carried Noah toward the library while armed men flooded the hallway.
Behind us, Ethan shouted orders.
“Search every room. Basement, kitchen, garage, roof. Nobody shoots unless I say so.”
Noah trembled in my arms.
“Was Mr. Leon hurt?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Bad?”
“Yes.”
He went quiet.
Kids know when adults lie.
I didn’t lie.
That was one reason Noah trusted me.
Inside the library, I locked the door.
Noah sat on the couch.
“Claire?”
“Yeah?”
“Am I sick?”
The question punched the air out of me.
I sat beside him.
“You’re not feeling your best.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Seven years old.
And already surrounded by adults who hid the truth.
I took his hand.
“I think someone may have been giving you something that made you weaker.”
His eyes widened.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it Margaret?”
“I don’t know that either.”
That part was true.
I suspected her.
But suspicion wasn’t proof.
Suddenly, someone knocked.
Three slow taps.
I froze.
“Claire,” Ethan called.
I opened the door.
He stepped inside alone and locked it behind him.
“Margaret’s gone.”
“What do you mean gone?”
“Her room is empty. Closet cleared. Passport missing.”
“She couldn’t have left. You locked the gates.”
“She didn’t use the gates.”
He handed me my phone.
On the screen was a security image from thirty minutes earlier.
Margaret entering the old service corridor behind the east wing.
“She knew the tunnels?” I asked.
Ethan’s mouth tightened.
“She designed the renovation that sealed them.”
“So she knew they weren’t sealed.”
“Looks that way.”
Noah looked up.
“Dad, why would Margaret run?”
Ethan crouched in front of him.
“I don’t know, buddy.”
Noah stared at him.
“You always know.”
That landed hard.
Ethan stood.
“Claire. Come with me.”
“Noah—”
“He’ll be guarded.”
“No.”
Ethan’s patience snapped.
“We don’t have time for this.”
“Then tell me why that bottle scared you.”
He looked at Noah.
Then back at me.
“Because I’ve seen that medication before.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
He lowered his voice.
“My wife.”
Noah went completely still.
His mother had died when he was two.
Officially from a sudden neurological collapse.
Ethan walked to the window.
“Before Rebecca died, her legs started failing. Then her hands. Then her breathing.”
I felt cold.
“Was she taking the same pills?”
“We never found out.”
“Never?”
“The bottle vanished after she died.”
Noah’s voice shook.
“Dad?”
Ethan turned.
“What happened to Mom?”
For the first time, Ethan Caldwell looked afraid to answer his own son.
Then his phone buzzed.
He checked the message.
His eyes narrowed.
“What is it?” I asked.
He turned the screen toward me.
A photo.
Taken inside the estate.
Taken seconds ago.
Noah asleep in his bed.
Except Noah was sitting beside me.
May you like
Under the picture were five words.
YOU SAVED THE WRONG CHILD.
