Chapter 2 - The Secret Hidden in the Blanket
Spencer returned to Warren House with Charlee and Dexter shortly after sunset, but the mansion no longer felt like his home. It felt like a beautifully decorated crime scene.
He noticed every detail he had ignored for years—the servants who avoided his eyes, the security cameras angled slightly away from the driveway, the side door that had been left unlocked despite standing instructions, and the faint red light blinking on the control panel beside the library.
Someone had manipulated his estate from the inside.
The question was whether that person had helped bring Dexter to him or had intended the baby to die before he was found.
Spencer carried Dexter upstairs while Charlee walked beside him holding the blue teddy bear. Mrs. Mabel met them outside the nursery, visibly relieved.
“Thank goodness. I was beginning to worry.”
“Where is Grant?” Spencer asked.
“The security office, I believe.”
“He didn’t answer his phone last night.”
“He said the storm damaged the communications system.”
Spencer looked down the corridor.
“The system has three independent backups.”
Mrs. Mabel’s concern deepened.
Spencer handed her the baby carrier. “Stay with them. Let no one enter this room unless I personally approve it.”
“Not even the medical team?”
“They can enter after you call me.”
Charlee reached for his hand.
“Are you leaving?”
“Only for a few minutes.”
“People say that when they’re leaving forever.”
Spencer crouched so they were eye level. “I’m going downstairs. I will return before Dexter finishes his bottle.”
“How do I know?”
He removed his silver wristwatch and placed it in her palm.
“That belonged to my grandfather. I have never left the house without it. Keep it until I come back.”
Charlee studied the watch, then nodded.
Spencer found Grant Lowell in the security room watching footage from the estate’s front gate. Grant had worked for the Warren family for nine years. A former federal agent, he was calm under pressure and had personally protected Spencer during two kidnapping threats.
“What happened to the perimeter feed yesterday?” Spencer asked.
Grant swiveled in his chair. “Lightning strike. We lost several exterior cameras.”
“Show me the outage report.”
Grant hesitated for less than a second, but Spencer noticed.
“I’m still compiling it.”
“The outage occurred more than twenty-four hours ago.”
“We’ve had other priorities.”
“Such as?”
Grant leaned back. “A newborn appeared beside your dumpsters, Spencer. Child services, police, reporters asking questions—”
“No reporter knew until an hour ago.”
Grant’s expression did not change. “Then I misspoke.”
Spencer moved closer to the monitors.
“Pull up the footage from the service road between five and seven Sunday morning.”
“That section was corrupted.”
“Show me the corrupted file.”
Grant typed several commands. A folder opened, but the relevant files were missing entirely.
“Corrupted data leaves fragments,” Spencer said. “Deleted data leaves an empty folder.”
Grant looked at him. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“I’m asking a question.”
“No. You arrived with a conclusion.”
Spencer’s voice remained quiet. “Who disabled the cameras?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who knew the access codes?”
“My team, you, Mrs. Mabel, your attorney, and—”
He stopped.
“And who?” Spencer asked.
“Your uncle.”
Spencer’s jaw tightened.
Conrad Vale was not technically his uncle. He had been Spencer’s father’s closest friend, family attorney, and executor of the Warren estate. Spencer had called him Uncle Conrad since childhood.
Conrad was also one of the three people who had known the private security password attached to Spencer’s genetic samples.
“Where is Conrad?”
“He arrived this morning. He’s in the library.”
Spencer left without another word.
Conrad Vale stood beside the fireplace drinking brandy. At sixty-eight, he remained an imposing man—silver hair, tailored charcoal suit, and a voice that had persuaded juries, executives, and politicians for nearly four decades.
“I heard about the child,” Conrad said. “You should have called me sooner.”
“I called Nathan.”
A flash of irritation crossed Conrad’s face. “Nathan Cole is competent, but he doesn’t understand this family.”
“That may be why I trust him.”
Conrad smiled without warmth. “You sound like your father.”
“Don’t insult me.”
Spencer placed Jocelyn’s letter on the desk.
Conrad did not touch it.
“Do you recognize the handwriting?” Spencer asked.
“I haven’t read it.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Conrad took a slow drink. “It resembles Jocelyn Cooper’s.”
“Did you know she had used my genetic material?”
“No.”
“Did you know Pamela had access to it?”
“Obviously. She managed the storage program.”
“Did you know Jocelyn?”
“I represented her company in a contract dispute several years ago.”
Spencer watched him carefully. “Why didn’t you mention that?”
“Because knowing someone professionally does not make me responsible for her choices.”
A soft sound came from the doorway.
Charlee stood there holding Spencer’s watch.
“You didn’t come back before the bottle was finished,” she said.
Spencer’s expression changed immediately. “I’m sorry.”
Conrad stared at her.
For the first time since Spencer had entered, the older man appeared genuinely unsettled.
“What is your name?” Conrad asked.
Charlee stepped behind Spencer.
“Don’t question her,” Spencer said.
Conrad recovered quickly. “She resembles someone.”
“Who?”
“No one important.”
Charlee peeked around Spencer’s arm. “You were at the hospital.”
Silence fell over the room.
Conrad’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
“What did you say?” Spencer asked.
Charlee pointed at Conrad. “He was standing outside Grandma’s room when I visited before they told me I couldn’t stay there anymore.”
Conrad set down his drink. “She’s confused.”
“I’m not,” Charlee replied.
“When did you see him?” Spencer asked.
“The day Grandma got sick. He talked to the nurse and gave her an envelope.”
Conrad’s voice hardened. “This is absurd. I have never met this child.”
Charlee flinched.
Spencer moved between them.
“You should leave.”
“Spencer—”
“Now.”
Conrad picked up his coat. At the door, he paused.
“You are allowing trauma and sentiment to cloud your judgment. A child appears with an unverifiable story, and suddenly you suspect everyone who has spent decades protecting you.”
Spencer held his gaze. “Protection should not require deleted surveillance footage.”
Conrad’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Then he left.
Spencer waited until the front door closed before turning to Charlee.
“Are you absolutely certain?”
She nodded.
“What kind of envelope did he give the nurse?”
“Yellow. It had money inside.”
“How do you know?”
“The nurse opened it when she thought nobody was looking.”
Spencer called Casey and relayed everything. She agreed to meet him at Saint Catherine’s Hospital, where Florence remained under observation following a severe respiratory infection and dehydration.
Mrs. Mabel stayed with Dexter while Spencer drove Charlee to the hospital. The girl sat in the back seat wearing clean clothes but still clutched the old blue teddy bear. Spencer noticed she had also kept his watch around her wrist, though it was far too large and slid almost to her elbow.
Florence Reed looked painfully small in the hospital bed.
She was seventy-three, with silver hair and a face marked by exhaustion. When Charlee ran into the room, Florence began to cry.
“My baby,” she whispered. “I thought they took you.”
Charlee climbed carefully beside her. “I found Uncle Spencer.”
The title startled everyone.
Spencer did not correct her.
Florence looked at him for a long time. “You have your mother’s eyes.”
“So did my father’s daughter?” he asked.
Florence closed her eyes.
Casey stood near the window, documenting the conversation with permission.
“Her name was Lydia,” Florence said. “Your father hired me as a junior housemaid when I was nineteen. He was charming when he wanted something and cruel when he had it. I became pregnant. He promised to care for us, but when his wife discovered the truth, he sent me away.”
“Why didn’t you contact me after he died?”
“I tried. Letters disappeared. Calls were blocked. Conrad told me the family would destroy Lydia if we came forward.”
Spencer glanced at Casey.
“Did Conrad visit you recently?”
Florence’s fingers tightened around the blanket.
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“He asked whether Lydia had left anything behind—letters, records, photographs. He said old scandals could damage the Warren Foundation.”
“Why would he care now?”
“Because Lydia learned something before she died.”
Charlee leaned against her grandmother.
“How did Lydia die?” Spencer asked.
“Officially, a car accident. But two weeks before the crash, she called me terrified. She had been working temporary records at Halcyon Fertility Center. She discovered unauthorized transfers from private storage accounts.”
Spencer felt his pulse begin to pound.
“Transfers involving my samples?”
Florence nodded.
“Lydia copied documents. She believed Conrad was paying someone at the clinic to move genetic material and falsify records. She said it involved an inheritance clause.”
Casey spoke. “What inheritance clause?”
Spencer knew before Florence answered.
His father’s trust contained a succession provision. If Spencer died without biological heirs, controlling shares in Warren Global would transfer to a charitable foundation managed by Conrad Vale and several trustees.
If Spencer had a biological child, the shares would eventually pass to that child.
Conrad stood to gain enormous power if Spencer remained childless.
But that did not explain why someone would create Dexter.
Unless the baby had not been created for Spencer.
Unless Jocelyn’s pregnancy was part of something that had gone wrong.
“Where are Lydia’s documents?” Spencer asked.
Florence looked toward Charlee.
“She hid them inside a music box. The night she died, she called and told me not to trust anyone from Warren House.”
“Where is the music box?”
“In the abandoned apartment where Charlee was sleeping.”
Casey arranged for police officers to secure the location. Spencer insisted on accompanying them.
They arrived after midnight.
The building stood behind a condemned laundromat in one of the oldest parts of the city. Charlee guided them to a third-floor apartment with broken windows and peeling wallpaper.
Her sleeping area consisted of two blankets, a flashlight, several canned foods, and a framed photograph of a young woman holding a baby.
Lydia.
She had Spencer’s eyes.
Charlee removed a loose floorboard and pulled out a small wooden music box painted with faded roses.
Inside were photographs, clinic transfer forms, bank statements, and a flash drive.
There was also a letter addressed to Charlee.
Before Spencer could read it, one of the officers shouted from the hallway.
“Everybody out! We smell gas!”
A second later, flames burst from the stairwell.
Someone had set the building on fire while they were inside.
Smoke rushed through the corridor.
Spencer grabbed Charlee and lifted her into his arms. Casey secured the music box beneath her coat. The officers led them toward the rear fire escape, but part of the metal staircase had been cut away.
Not rusted.
Cut.
They were trapped on the third floor while the flames climbed toward them.
Charlee buried her face against Spencer’s neck.
“You said you wouldn’t leave me.”
“I won’t.”
Spencer kicked through the door of the adjacent apartment and searched for another exit. The windows overlooked a narrow alley. Below, firefighters were arriving, but the smoke had already turned the ceiling black.
A ladder began rising toward them.
Spencer wrapped his jacket around Charlee’s face and carried her to the window.
Casey climbed out first with the evidence. Spencer handed Charlee through the opening. The girl refused to release his shirt.
“You come too.”
“I’m right behind you.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
The firefighter pulled her onto the ladder.
Seconds later, part of the ceiling collapsed behind Spencer.
He climbed through the window as flames consumed the room where Charlee had spent two weeks sleeping alone.
From the ground, Spencer watched the building burn.
Casey approached, coughing, the music box still secure beneath her arm.
“This wasn’t an accident,” she said.
Spencer looked at the severed fire escape, then at Charlee wrapped in a firefighter’s blanket.
“No,” he replied. “Someone knew we were coming.”
His phone vibrated.
May you like
A message from Mrs. Mabel appeared on the screen.
Come home immediately. Someone entered the nursery.
