I hired Mara because everyone in the city called her a thief—and because I needed my family to believe I was desperate enough to trust anyone.

The silence that fell over the nursery was heavy and suffocating. Victoria’s thumb froze over her phone screen. Beatrice’s grip on Mara’s wrist slowly loosened, her fingers slipping away as if Mara’s skin had suddenly turned to ash.

"What second system?" Victoria whispered, her voice cracking.

"The one I installed the day I brought Mara into this house," I said, tapping the tablet screen. "I didn't hire Mara because I was desperate, Victoria. I hired her because she is the most brilliant forensic auditor and security specialist in the state. The city calls her a thief because she has a habit of breaking into the private offices of corrupt executives and stealing the evidence they try to burn."

Mara stepped back, rubbing her wrist, a faint, cold smile playing on her lips. "Your family has a very predictable playbook, Mr. Miller. They find a scapegoat, construct a narrative using a cheap consumer-grade camera, and let the police do the rest of the work. It almost worked."

I hit play on the tablet.

The video on the screen was not from 2:13 a.m. It was from 11:45 p.m. the previous night.

On the high-definition feed, the nursery door opened quietly. It wasn't Mara who entered. It was Victoria. She walked stealthily to the refrigerated medical cabinet, pulled a vial from her pocket, and swapped it with the one the pharmacy had delivered that afternoon. She then adjusted the napkin under Leo's breakfast tray, hiding the pre-filled syringe beneath it.