Chapter 2 - The Laboratory of Lies
As I scrubbed the silver in the basement pantry, my mind replayed the scene in the west wing. Why had he kept her? A man like Moretti didn't do anything without an objective. Every move he made was a calculated shift on a chessboard of massive proportions.
An hour passed. Then two.
I finally left the pantry, my apron stained with polish. I ignored the whispers of the other maids as I walked toward the west wing, my heart racing. I had promised five minutes. It had been nearly three hours.
I pushed open the door to the office, expecting the worst.
I stopped.
Alessandro was still in his chair, but the legal folders were gone. Instead, the massive desk was covered in children’s building blocks. Emma was sitting on the carpet, constructing a tower that leaned precariously to the left. Alessandro was watching her, and for the first time, his hand was resting on the arm of his wheelchair, not clenched into a fist.
"It will fall," Alessandro said, his voice softer than before.
"No," Emma insisted, placing a red block with intense concentration. "It's a castle."
"Castles fall, little one. History is just a long record of castles falling."
"Not this one."
I stood in the doorway, paralyzed. He was actually participating. He wasn't just tolerating her; he was helping her align the blocks.
"Ms. Miller," he said without looking up. "Your daughter has an excellent grasp of foundation. She insists the tower requires a moat."
"I... I should take her now, sir."
"She stays until the moat is finished."
I walked toward them, intending to scoop her up, but then I saw it. Tucked behind his monitor, partially hidden, was a laboratory report. I recognized the letterhead—it was from a private diagnostic firm in the city. The bolded text at the top read: Toxicological Screen - Final Analysis.
Alessandro noticed my eyes shift to the paper. He didn't cover it.
"My soup," he said, his voice returning to that gravelly, dangerous tone. "The one you saw on the tray this morning. It wasn't intended to nourish me."
My blood ran cold. "Sir?"
"Someone in this house has been adding a low-dosage neurotoxin to my meals for three months. It’s designed to cause muscle atrophy, to simulate the decline of my spinal injury. They want everyone to believe I am dying, Ms. Miller. They want the Moretti estate to be vulnerable when the 'natural' end comes."
I looked at the lab report, then at him. The betrayal was staggering.
"Which one of them?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"That is the question," Alessandro said, looking at Emma, who was happily humming to her block castle. "I have no way of knowing who is loyal. My entire inner circle is compromised. I am a man in a cage, unable to walk, being slowly poisoned by the very people who claim to serve me."
May you like
He looked at me, and his eyes were no longer cold. They were desperate.
"I need an extra set of eyes," he said. "Someone invisible. Someone who brings a child to work because they are too desperate to quit. Are you interested in a promotion, Ms. Miller?"
