Chapter 3 - The Woman Behind the Wall
Emma screamed.
Victor spun around.
His hand caught her wrist before she could fall.
The lights returned.
Nothing stood behind her.
But the photograph was gone.
Victor's jaw tightened.
“Who touched you?”
“I don't know.”
He scanned the corridor.
Then his gaze landed on the wall.
A painting hung crooked.
Emma remembered the photograph.
Eleanor Blackwood.
Victor approached the painting and pulled it from the wall.
Behind it was a narrow opening.
A hidden passage.
The butler arrived seconds later.
Victor stared at him.
“You knew.”
The older man shook his head.
“I knew there was a passage. I didn't know where it led.”
Victor entered.
Emma followed.
The passage smelled of dust and old wood.
They reached a small room hidden behind the dining hall.
There were shelves.
Boxes.
Old documents.
And dozens of cassette tapes.
Emma picked one up.
Each tape carried a date.
Victor saw one.
His mother's handwriting.
He grabbed it.
“What does it say?”
“November fourteenth.”
Emma looked at the date.
The day before Eleanor died.
Victor found an old tape recorder.
He inserted the cassette.
Static filled the room.
Then Eleanor's voice.
“If you're hearing this, Victor, I failed to protect you.”
Victor went completely still.
Emma watched him.
The recording continued.
“The person closest to me has betrayed us.”
A pause.
“I couldn't trust the police.”
Another pause.
“I couldn't trust the family.”
Then Eleanor whispered something that made Victor's face change.
“Most of all, I couldn't trust the man who served me every morning.”
Emma looked toward the butler.
He had followed them into the room.
His face was devastated.
Victor slowly turned.
“You.”
The butler shook his head.
“No.”
“You served my mother.”
“Yes.”
“She suspected you.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you leave?”
The butler's eyes filled with tears.
“Because she asked me to stay.”
The recording continued.
“If my son finds this, tell him one thing.”
Static.
“His father wasn't the traitor.”
Victor's breathing stopped.
His father had died believing Eleanor had betrayed him.
For twelve years, Victor had believed the same.
The tape crackled.
Then Eleanor said:
“His father was trying to expose someone else.”
The recording ended.
Silence.
Victor stared at the machine.
Emma whispered, “Who?”
The butler answered.
“Your uncle.”
Victor looked at him.
“My uncle died before my mother.”
“He was supposed to.”
Emma felt cold.
The butler continued.
“Eleanor discovered that your uncle had been working with people inside the family business.”
Victor picked up another tape.
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“Because she believed you were being watched.”
Emma looked at the chair.
“The camera.”
The butler nodded.
“She knew.”
Victor stared at Emma.
“She knew someone was listening.”
“And she left the chair where it was,” Emma said.
“Why?”
The butler hesitated.
“Because the chair was bait.”
Victor looked at him.
“What?”
“The chair wasn't hiding the spy.”
The butler pointed toward the wall.
“It was listening for the spy.”
Emma frowned.
“What does that mean?”
The butler opened a drawer.
Inside was a second device.
Older.
More sophisticated.
“It recorded every transmission.”
Victor took it.
“Then why did someone put another device underneath?”
The butler's face drained of color.
“Because the original system stopped working.”
“When?”
The butler looked at the date.
“Twelve years ago.”
Victor understood.
Someone had recently replaced it.
Emma's stomach tightened.
“That means the person who planted the new device knew about the old one.”
Victor nodded.
“And they knew exactly where to put it.”
A noise came from outside.
Three knocks.
Emma turned.
Nobody moved.
Three more knocks.
Victor approached the hidden door.
“Who is there?”
No answer.
He opened it.
The hallway was empty.
But a small envelope lay on the floor.
Victor picked it up.
His name was written across the front.
VICTOR BLACKWOOD.
He opened it.
Inside was one photograph.
Emma leaned closer.
It showed Victor's mother.
Alive.
Standing outside a hospital.
And beside her stood a woman Emma recognized.
The woman was wearing Emma's exact housekeeper uniform.
Emma stared at the photograph.
“That can't be me.”
Victor looked at her.
Then slowly turned the photograph over.
One sentence was written on the back.
She has been inside your house for three months.
Emma's blood ran cold.
May you like
Victor looked at her.
And reached for the gun hidden beneath his jacket.
