Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Manor
The threat hung in the air like a drawn blade.
Isabella didn't wait for a reply. She turned gracefully on her heel, her satin gown whispering against the marble floor as she glided back to William’s side, placing a delicate hand on his arm. William immediately smiled down at her, kissing her forehead with a devotion that made Emma's stomach turn.
"We have to be smart," Emma whispered to Mateo, her heart thumping wildly against her chest. "If I go to the police right now, Victor’s men at the gate will stop me. And even if I get through, Isabella has William’s authority behind her. She’ll move Ethan before the police get a search warrant."
"What are you going to do?" Mateo asked, eyes wide with fear.
"Ethan told me something," Emma said, her mind working furiously. "He said Isabella locked him away because he found out the truth about his mother. Evelyn didn't die of a natural heart attack, Mateo. I know she didn't."
Emma remembered the weeks leading up to Evelyn Sterling’s death. Evelyn had been an incredibly active, vibrant philanthropist who loved gardening and running marathons. Then, suddenly, she had begun suffering from extreme fatigue, memory lapses, and severe tremors. The doctors had called it an atypical neurological degeneration.
But Isabella Vance had been Evelyn’s personal secretary during those final six months.
"The master bedroom," Emma realized suddenly. "When Isabella redecorated the estate last month, she ordered all of Miss Evelyn’s personal belongings to be boxed up and moved to the attic. She claimed it was too painful for William to see them."
"The attic is locked with a master bolt," Mateo said. "Only the estate manager has the key."
"No," Emma said, a small, resolute spark igniting in her eyes. "Housekeeping has the override key for deep seasonal cleaning. I have it on my ring."
Two hours later, as midnight struck and the last luxury vehicles rolled away down the long, iron-gated driveway, Sterling Manor fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Upstairs in the master suite, William Sterling lay in a deep, unnaturally heavy sleep, under the influence of the potent sedative Isabella slipped into his bedtime tea every night.
In the east wing corridor, Isabella sat in her dressing room, speaking in hushed, sharp tones on a secure satellite phone.
"Everything is moving according to schedule," she said into the receiver, looking at her reflection in the gilded vanity mirror. "The board meeting is set for Thursday. Once the voting proxy is executed, we liquidate the logistics holding company and transfer the capital to the Zurich accounts. The boy? Don't worry about the boy. He will be taken care of permanently before the week is out."
While Isabella spoke, a shadow moved silently through the dark fourth-floor hallway above her.
Emma slipped the brass master key into the heavy oak door of the attic storage room. The lock clicked softly. She pushed the door open, stepping into a cavernous, dust-scented space filled with covered furniture, framed paintings, and stacked wooden crates.
She clicked on her flashlight, shielding the lens with her palm to minimize the light.
She moved quickly past rows of old chandeliers and rolled tapestries until she found what she was looking for: three heavy leather trunk boxes stamped with the initials E.S.—Evelyn Sterling.
Emma dropped to her knees, her hands trembling as she popped the brass clasps of the first trunk. Inside were photo albums, hand-knitted baby blankets, and old journals.
She dug deeper, pulling out a velvet-lined jewelry box and a stack of personal diaries.
Emma flipped through the final diary, dated fourteen months ago.
The handwriting in the early pages was elegant and sharp. But as the months progressed toward the end, the script became jagged, wild, and desperate.
May 14th: The fatigue is worse today. I can barely hold my teacup. Isabella was kind enough to brew my herbal blend again. She is so attentive, yet... why do I feel worse every time she leaves the room?
June 2nd: I found an old bottle in the garden shed pantry. It was labeled as an organic pesticide, but the seal was broken. I asked Victor about it, and he glared at me so fiercely I had to step away. My hands won't stop shaking.
June 18th: I hid the digital drive inside Barnaby’s belly. If anything happens to me, Ethan needs to take it to my brother in Boston. God forgive me, I think I am being poisoned.
Emma gasped, dropping the diary. Inside Barnaby’s belly.
Barnaby was Ethan’s favorite stuffed teddy bear—the one she had noticed hidden under the floorboards in his staged bedroom!
Emma stuffed the diary into her apron pocket and stood up. But as she turned toward the attic door, a long shadow stretched across the floorboards.
Standing in the doorway, blocking her only exit, was Victor.
May you like
In his right hand, he held a sleek black silenced pistol.
"You really should have taken the night off, Emma," Victor said, his voice flat and cold as ice.
