Chapter 1 - The Letter His Wife Left Behind
"CLAIRE, IF YOU READ THE LAST PARAGRAPH OF THAT LETTER, YOU'LL UNDERSTAND WHY MY DAUGHTERS HAVE BEEN TERRIFIED OF CLOSED DOORS FOR AN ENTIRE YEAR!"
Adrian Mercer's voice was barely above a whisper, but the desperation behind it made my hands tremble.
I sat in the enormous bed, with six-year-old Lily sleeping against my chest and her twin sister, Emma, curled beneath my arm.
Their father watched me unfold a letter that had been written by a woman who had died twelve months earlier.
Rebecca Mercer.
His wife.
Their mother.
I looked down at the elegant handwriting covering the cream-colored paper.
The first paragraphs were filled with love.
Rebecca wrote about Lily's beautiful imagination, Emma's stubborn courage, and the ordinary mornings she wished she could have shared with them. She told Adrian that loving their daughters had been the greatest privilege of her life.
Then the handwriting changed.
The final paragraph was uneven, as though the woman holding the pen had been struggling to breathe.
I began reading aloud.
"Adrian, if our daughters ever believe I sent them away, you must tell them the truth. I was calling for them that night. I never wanted that bedroom door locked. I begged Victor to let them come back, but he refused."
My voice faltered.
Adrian closed his eyes.
I continued.
"I heard Lily crying. I heard Emma asking why Mommy didn't love her anymore. I tried to reach them, but I couldn't get out of bed."
A tear slipped down my cheek.
Then I reached the final three sentences.
"Please forgive yourself enough to discover what really happened. The answers are hidden where our girls learned to find the stars. And Adrian, if you ever hear my lullaby again, don't stop listening when the music ends."
I slowly lowered the letter.
"Victor?" I whispered. "Who is Victor?"
Adrian's expression hardened.
"Victor Hale. My head of security. He's worked for me for eighteen years."
I stared at him.
"Your wife was afraid of him?"
Adrian looked toward his sleeping daughters.
"I thought she was confused by her medication."
The admission seemed to physically hurt him.
"Rebecca was dying from a serious lung disease. During her final weeks, she was exhausted, frightened, and sometimes disoriented. Victor told me she was imagining things."
"And you believed him?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
Outside the bedroom windows, pale morning sunlight illuminated the Boston skyline.
Finally, he whispered something I would never forget.
"I believed everyone except the woman who had never lied to me."
I studied his face.
This was the man powerful businessmen feared. The man whose name appeared in whispered conversations about organized crime, illegal shipments, and fortunes nobody could explain.
Yet sitting beside his sleeping daughters, Adrian Mercer looked like someone who had lost everything that mattered.
"What happened that night?" I asked.
He inhaled slowly.
"Rebecca wanted to spend the evening with Lily and Emma. She knew her time was running out. I had a hospital bed prepared downstairs, but she insisted on staying here."
He touched the wooden bed frame.
"In this room."
I glanced at the twins.
"They fell asleep beside her?"
He nodded.
"She sang to them until they closed their eyes. Around ten o'clock, her breathing became worse."
His voice tightened.
"Victor told me the doctor had ordered everyone away from Rebecca because she might have a respiratory infection. He said the girls needed to be removed immediately."
"What did you do?"
"I carried Emma into the hallway. Victor carried Lily."
My stomach twisted.
"Then?"
"He told me Rebecca needed complete isolation. I ordered the door closed."
I looked toward the heavy wooden door.
Adrian followed my gaze.
"The girls woke up. They started crying for her. I could hear Rebecca calling from inside, but Victor insisted she needed rest."
"And you never opened it?"
Adrian lowered his head.
"No."
The silence that followed was almost unbearable.
"Three hours later, she was dead."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked the question that had been troubling me since I read the letter.
"If Rebecca knew something was wrong, why didn't she tell you directly?"
"She tried."
His answer came so quietly that I almost missed it.
"She had been questioning some financial transactions connected to our family foundation. Victor said her suspicions were caused by stress and medication."
He rubbed his exhausted face.
"I told her to stop worrying about business and concentrate on getting better."
I glanced at the letter.
"And afterward?"
"Victor found that letter on her bedside table after she died. He gave it to me."
"You've had it all this time?"
Adrian nodded.
"I carried it everywhere. I read it so often I nearly memorized it. But I couldn't face the possibility that I had trusted the wrong man."
My attention returned to the final sentence.
Don't stop listening when the music ends.
"Mr. Mercer, where is Rebecca's lullaby recording?"
He looked surprised.
"On the girls' tablet."
"I played it last night."
His eyes sharpened.
"Show me."
Carefully, I reached toward the bedside table.
The tablet remained exactly where I had left it.
I opened the music application and found the recording.
Its title was simple.
Winter Stars — Mommy's Song.
The duration showed four minutes and forty-six seconds.
I frowned.
"That's strange."
"What?"
"The lullaby only lasts about three minutes."
Adrian leaned closer.
I pressed play.
Rebecca's beautiful voice filled the bedroom.
The melody was gentle, almost haunting.
Adrian's eyes immediately filled with tears.
For three minutes, he listened without moving.
Then the song ended.
Silence followed.
I watched the progress bar continue moving.
Three minutes and twenty seconds.
Three minutes and thirty seconds.
A faint clicking sound came through the speaker.
Then Rebecca's voice returned.
But this time, she wasn't singing.
"Victor, please. I know what you've been doing with the foundation money."
Adrian's entire body went rigid.
Another voice answered.
A man's voice.
Cold.
Controlled.
"You should have stopped looking through those accounts, Rebecca."
I looked at Adrian.
His face had turned deathly pale.
Then the recording captured something even more disturbing.
Rebecca whispered:
"Why are you touching my oxygen?"
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And Victor Hale answered:
"Because you were never supposed to find out where the money went."
