Chapter 2: Shadows in the East Wing
Midnight had long since settled over the estate, turning the grand corridors into tunnels of deep shadow and pale moonlight. I walked soundlessly down the East Wing toward the nursery, my rubber-soled shoes making no sound on the runner rugs. My pulse beat a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Vince was waiting by the carved oak doorway of the nursery, holding a small brass skeleton key he must have taken from the main office. He wore no jacket now, just his black collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, exposing the dark, intricate patterns of ink along his forearms.
"The security detail rotates every twenty minutes," I whispered, pausing beside him. "If Mr. Sterling's men catch us up here—"
"They won't," Vince interrupted, turning the key. The lock clicked softly. "Sterling thinks everyone is asleep, mourning themselves into a stupor downstairs."
We slipped inside the nursery. It smelled faintly of lavender and old paper. Ellie was asleep in her crib down the hall, watched over by a trusted night nurse, but here, among the dust motes dancing in the moonlight, lay the hidden life of Ellie's mother. Vince knelt beside a low cedar toy chest, prying up a false bottom with a flathead screwdriver he had retrieved from the tool room.
He lifted a thick leather-bound journal. The cover was worn, the pages crammed with hurried handwriting and pressed flowers.
"Look at this," Vince muttered, angling the journal toward the sliver of light coming through the sheer curtains.
I leaned in, reading the cramped ink over his shoulder. The entries detailed desperate bank transfers, frantic notes about missing trust funds, and a recurring name: Arthur Sterling. The family patriarch had systematically drained the estate accounts, forcing Ellie's mother to sign non-disclosure agreements under the constant threat of losing custody of her daughter. The forced apology wasn't about a mistake she made; it was the price they demanded for letting her breathe their air.
Vince’s jaw tightened until the muscles worked visibly beneath his skin. He closed the journal with a dull thud that seemed to echo off the nursery walls.
"She didn't drown by accident," Vince said, his voice flat and lethal. "They backed her into a corner until she had nowhere left to run."
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"What are you going to do?" I asked, genuine fear clutching my chest.
"I'm going to take everything Sterling cares about," Vince replied, sliding the journal into the inner pocket of his dark vest. "Starting with his reputation."
