Chapter 3 - THE OTHER BOY
I stared at the photo.
“That’s not Noah.”
Ethan enlarged it.
The child looked almost identical.
Same dark hair.
Same thin face.
Same blue pajamas.
But I knew Noah.
The boy in the picture had a tiny scar above his left eyebrow.
Noah didn’t.
“Who is he?” I asked.
Ethan didn’t answer.
“Ethan.”
His jaw tightened.
“His name is Daniel.”
Noah looked confused.
“Who’s Daniel?”
Ethan closed his eyes.
That was the moment I realized this family had more locked doors than the mansion.
“Daniel was your brother.”
Noah stared at him.
“I have a brother?”
“Had.”
The room fell silent.
Ethan sat down slowly.
“You were twins.”
Noah blinked.
“You never told me.”
“I thought he died.”
“You thought?”
I stepped between them.
“What happened?”
Ethan looked at me like he hated needing to explain.
“When the boys were four months old, there was a fire at a safe house in Connecticut.”
“Safe house?”
“My family had enemies.”
Of course they did.
“One nanny died. One security man died. Daniel was listed among the victims.”
“Was there a body?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“You accepted that?”
“I saw the room.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
His eyes flashed.
“No. There was no body.”
Noah’s voice cracked.
“So my brother might be alive?”
Ethan looked at the photo again.
“If this is real, yes.”
“Why would Margaret have him?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
A guard entered.
“We found the tunnel exit.”
“Where?”
“Old greenhouse.”
“And Margaret?”
“No sign. But there’s blood.”
Ethan pulled his gun.
I stood.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Stop saying that.”
“You’re a nanny.”
“I’m also the only person in this house who noticed your son was being poisoned.”
His eyes went cold.
“You don’t know it was poison.”
“No. But I know Margaret didn’t run because she forgot to file payroll.”
That got his attention.
Noah grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t leave.”
I crouched.
“I’ll come back.”
“Promise?”
I hesitated.
Kids hear promises differently than adults.
Adults treat them like wishes.
Kids treat them like contracts.
“I promise.”
Ethan assigned four men to guard Noah.
Then we went to the greenhouse.
The tunnel opened behind an old stone wall covered in ivy.
Inside, the air smelled like dirt and rust.
A trail of blood led ten feet down.
Then stopped.
On the ground sat a small black bag.
Ethan opened it.
Cash.
Two passports.
A burner phone.
And one syringe.
I picked up the medication wrapper beside it.
My heart kicked.
“This is the same drug.”
Ethan looked toward the darkness.
“Margaret!”
Nothing.
Then the burner phone rang.
Ethan answered on speaker.
A distorted voice spoke.
“You always were slow, Ethan.”
His face hardened.
“Margaret.”
“You should have stayed out of the medicine cabinet.”
“That was Claire.”
A soft laugh.
“Yes. Claire.”
Hearing my name made my skin crawl.
“You’ve been watching me?” I asked.
“For weeks.”
“Where’s Daniel?”
Silence.
Then Margaret said, “Much closer than you think.”
A light flickered deeper inside the tunnel.
Ethan raised his gun.
We moved forward.
Twenty yards later, we found a steel door.
It was unlocked.
Behind it was a hidden room.
A bed.
Medical equipment.
Children’s books.
Drawings.
Dozens of them.
Every picture showed two little boys holding hands.
One labeled NOAH.
The other labeled DANIEL.
Then Ethan saw the wall.
There were photographs of Noah from every year of his life.
Birthday parties.
Hospital visits.
School lessons.
Sleeping.
Crying.
And beside every photograph—
a handwritten note.
DOSE INCREASED.
WEAKNESS STABLE.
FATHER STILL BELIEVES DIAGNOSIS.
At the bottom was one final note.
TRANSFER TONIGHT.
I heard Ethan breathe behind me.
Then a floorboard creaked.
I turned.
A small boy stood in the doorway.
May you like
He looked exactly like Noah.
And he was holding a gun.
