Chapter 3 - The Room Above Mine
We searched the second floor twice.
Nobody was there.
Marcus insisted every window was locked and every exterior camera showed no one entering or leaving.
Noah remained certain.
The man had been standing outside the old nursery.
Gray hair.
Blue eyes.
A dark jacket.
"He knew my name," Noah said.
"What did he say?" I asked.
"He said I should give you the paper when everybody was together."
The note contained only five words.
ASK CLAIRE WHO NOAH'S FATHER IS.
I looked at Claire.
She sank into a chair.
Daniel moved toward her.
"Don't."
She raised one hand.
"I have to."
I waited.
Noah was taken downstairs by Mrs. Alvarez, my cook.
When he was gone, Claire looked at me.
"Noah's father was named Michael Bennett."
"Was?"
"He died before Noah was born."
"How?"
"Car accident."
Daniel and I exchanged a look.
"When?"
I asked.
"Six years ago."
"Did Michael work for my family?"
Claire began crying.
"Yes."
I felt the answer before she said it.
"He worked for your father."
Michael Bennett had been one of Charles Caldwell's private drivers.
I remembered him vaguely.
Quiet man.
Former Marine.
He had disappeared around the time my father became sick.
"Why didn't I know?"
"Your father paid me to leave Chicago."
Daniel stiffened.
"Charles knew you?"
Claire nodded.
"Michael came home terrified one night. He said he'd overheard something while driving Mr. Caldwell."
"What?"
"A conversation about Rachel."
My chest tightened.
"He said Rachel's crash had been ordered by someone inside the family."
"Who?"
"He didn't know. But he had recorded part of the conversation."
The recording.
The one Noah had found.
"Where is it?"
Claire looked toward the hallway.
"In my room."
We retrieved a small digital recorder from beneath her bed.
Its casing was cracked.
Daniel connected it to my computer.
Static filled the study.
Then my father's voice.
"If Ethan discovers this, he'll tear the company apart."
Another voice answered.
Distorted.
"You should have thought about that before Rachel found the accounts."
My father again.
"You promised nobody would be hurt."
The unknown speaker laughed.
"Rachel made her choice."
My stomach turned.
Then Rachel's voice appeared.
Faint.
Recorded separately.
"Ethan, if you're hearing this, they lied about the crash."
I closed my eyes.
Her voice.
Seven years.
Seven impossible years.
And there she was.
"I don't know how much time I have. Daniel is safe. Your father is helping us. Don't trust the police report. Don't trust the foundation accounts. And Ethan—"
Static.
Then:
"Remember what I asked you."
The recording ended.
Keep looking.
I had failed her.
Claire touched my shoulder.
"You couldn't have known."
"I promised."
"And someone made sure you couldn't keep that promise."
Daniel rewound the first conversation.
The distorted voice bothered me.
Something about its rhythm.
Familiar.
"Can we clean it?"
"I know someone who can."
We sent the audio to a forensic specialist Daniel trusted.
While we waited, I examined the photograph from my father's desk.
Four people.
Rachel.
Daniel.
Charles.
The scratched-out person.
The body remained visible.
Male.
Tall.
A ring on his right hand.
A square black stone.
I had seen that ring.
Where?
Dinner.
Board meetings.
Christmas.
My memory wouldn't give me the face.
Then Noah entered.
Mrs. Alvarez chased after him.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Caldwell."
Noah ignored everyone and walked toward the photograph.
"That's the man."
My heart stopped.
"Which man?"
He pointed at the scratched-out figure.
"The man upstairs."
Daniel crouched beside him.
"How can you tell? His face is gone."
"The ring."
We all looked.
Noah continued.
"He had that ring."
I called Marcus.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I checked the security application.
Marcus's access badge had left the property eleven minutes earlier.
Impossible.
The gates had supposedly been locked.
Daniel saw my face.
"What?"
"Marcus is gone."
Claire whispered, "Was he wearing a ring?"
I remembered.
Marcus Hale.
Head of security.
My father's former protection officer.
Black onyx ring.
Always on his right hand.
"No."
I opened an old company photograph.
There he was.
Marcus.
Twenty-eight years old.
Standing beside my father.
Wearing the same ring.
Daniel cursed.
But something didn't fit.
Marcus had been at the estate when Noah claimed the older man approached him upstairs.
Except Noah described gray hair and blue eyes.
Marcus had dark eyes.
"Two people," I said.
Daniel understood.
"The person in the photograph and the man upstairs aren't necessarily the same person."
"But the ring—"
"Could have changed hands."
My phone rang.
The forensic specialist.
I put him on speaker.
"I cleaned the recording," he said. "There's a second audio layer."
"What does that mean?"
"Someone was recording the conversation while another recording was playing nearby. I isolated it."
"Can you identify the voice?"
A pause.
"You need to hear this yourself."
He sent the file.
I played it.
My father's voice disappeared beneath static.
Then another voice emerged.
Michael Bennett.
Claire gasped.
Michael whispered:
"If something happens to me, Charles isn't the one Ethan needs to fear."
A door opened in the recording.
Michael stopped speaking.
Footsteps.
Then a man said:
"You shouldn't be here."
Michael answered:
"I know what you did to Rachel."
The other man laughed.
And for the first time, the distortion vanished.
I recognized the voice immediately.
My blood went cold.
It belonged to someone who had sat beside my hospital bed after the crash.
Someone who had helped me learn to live in a wheelchair.
Someone who had delivered the eulogy at Rachel's funeral.
My godfather.
William Caldwell.
My father's younger brother.
The uncle I had trusted with everything.
Daniel whispered, "Where is William now?"
I looked at the clock.
Then I remembered.
William had asked to have dinner with Noah that evening.
He said he wanted to meet "the little boy who'd made Ethan smile again."
I called Mrs. Alvarez.
No answer.
I rolled into the hallway.
"Noah?"
Silence.
Claire ran downstairs.
"Noah!"
The front door stood open.
On the marble floor lay one muddy barefoot print.
Then another.
They led outside.
A black onyx ring rested on the final step.
Beside it was Noah's cream-colored sleeve, torn from his shirt.
Claire screamed his name.
My phone vibrated.
One message.
May you like
BRING THE KEY TO 317.
COME ALONE IF YOU WANT THE BOY BACK.
