Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Nursery
Twenty minutes later, after being escorted upstairs by a bewildered Mrs. Gable and given a plush, oversized cashmere sweater that swallowed her frame, Hannah found herself standing in front of the heavy oak doors of Dominic’s private study.
She took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and walked in.
The room was vast, lined with dark wood bookshelves, a massive mahogany desk, and a roaring fireplace that cast flickering shadows across the walls. Dominic sat behind the desk, a glass of amber whiskey in his hand. The overhead lights were dimmed.
"Sit down, Hannah," he said, gesturing to the leather armchair opposite him.
"I'd rather stand," she replied, crossing her arms.
Dominic didn't argue. He set his glass down, leaned forward, and laced his fingers together. "For two years, I’ve hired the best pediatricians, neurologists, and speech therapists in the world. I’ve spent millions flying specialists in from Zurich, Boston, and London."
"And what did they say?" Hannah asked, her voice softening slightly despite herself.
"Nothing," Dominic’s jaw tightened. "Physical trauma? None. Brain damage? Negative. Autism spectrum? Inconclusive. They simply... chose not to speak. Their mother died during childbirth in this very house. Since then, they’ve lived in absolute silence."
Hannah looked at him, seeing past the mafia boss facade, past the ruthless reputation, down to a broken father who had tried to buy a miracle and failed.
"I’m sorry about their mother," Hannah murmured. "Truly. But Mr. Vale... I am not a doctor. I grew up in Queens with a father who worked himself to death. I dropped out of nursing school because we couldn't afford the tuition. I don't have magical powers."
"You don't need magic," Dominic stood up, walking slowly around the desk until he stood right in front of her. "You need to tell me why my daughters looked at a complete stranger and called her mother."
"I don't know!" Hannah raised her hands in exasperation. "I’ve never seen them before today! I’ve never been near your estate!"
Doric stared into her eyes, searching for a lie. The silence stretched between them, thick and electric.
Suddenly, a sharp, terrified scream echoed down the hallway from the nursery.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He bolted past Hannah toward the door, bursting into the connecting hallway. Hannah followed right behind him.
When they burst into the nursery, Mrs. Gable was standing pale and trembling near the doorway. In the center of the massive room, all three little girls were sitting up in their oversized custom crib, screaming at the top of their lungs—not crying, but screaming in pure, unadulterated terror.
And on the wall directly above their crib, the custom-painted cloud mural was slowly peeling away, revealing a dark, hidden cavity behind the drywall.
Dominic froze. His face drained of all color.
"Mrs. Gable," Dominic whispered, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly register. "Who authorized maintenance on this wall?"
"N-no one, sir!" the older woman stammered, tears springing to her eyes. "Nobody has touched the nursery since the girls were born!"
Hannah stepped past Dominic, her eyes locked on the dark cavity. Through the torn drywall, something glinted under the emergency lights. A small, black, blinking device wired directly into the estate's electrical grid.
A listening device.
A surveillance loop recording every breath, every heartbeat, every quiet moment of his children's lives.
And as Hannah looked closer, she noticed something else—a faint, sweet, chemical smell drifting from the vent right beside the wire.
The exact same chemical smell she had once noticed in her father’s hospital room when a corrupt nurse tried to alter his IV drip.
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Slowly, terrifyingly, the pieces began to click together in Hannah’s mind.
The girls hadn't just recognized her face. They had recognized the antidote—or rather, the scent of the person who had been quietly slipping into the East Wing every night when everyone else was asleep.
