Chapter 4
The space beneath the mahogany writing desk offered no concealment, and the windows looked down a sheer three-story drop into the gravel courtyard. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird as the heavy office door began to swing inward, spilling a shaft of bright hallway light across the Persian rug. With frantic speed, I lunged toward the tall built-in bookshelves against the far wall, slipping behind the heavy velvet drape that concealed the emergency fire exit and the narrow service closet.
Through a narrow gap in the crimson velvet, I watched Julian step into the room. He had discarded his suit jacket; his black shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing forearms corded with tension. His dark wavy hair was slightly disheveled, and his breathing was fast and shallow, as if he had been running through the corridors. He did not turn on the overhead chandelier. Instead, he walked straight to the small hearth on the east wall, dropped to one knee, and pulled a box of wooden matches from his pocket.
I pressed myself flat against the cold plaster wall, my fingers clutching the blue pharmacy receipts hidden inside my sweater.
Julian struck a match, its sulfurous flare illuminating the harsh angles of his face. He reached into a leather briefcase he had carried in with him, pulling out a thick sheaf of identical blue carbon copies—the master file of the pharmacy logs that duplicated the very ones pressed against my chest. Without a word, he tossed the stack into the grate and touched the flame to the dry paper. The documents curled, blackened, and flared with a bright orange light, sending a thin wisp of acrid smoke up the brick chimney.
"You should have stayed in the nursery, nurse," Julian spoke aloud to the empty room, his voice dangerously low, addressing the shadows as if he knew he was not entirely alone. "The old man’s mind was a closed book. You’ve only managed to burn the cover off."
May you like
He stood up, watching the flames devour the evidence with a cold, detached satisfaction on his face. The heat from the hearth radiated across the room, and the smell of burning paper grew thick and choking in the confined space.
When Julian finally turned his back to extinguish the remaining embers with a heavy iron poker, I slipped the window latch silently, pushed the glass casement outward into the damp night air, and stepped out onto the narrow stone ledge above the courtyard.
