Chapter 2 - The Letter Taped to the Blue Blanket
Spencer followed the wet footprints through the west hallway with Lucas close behind him.
“Call security,” Lucas whispered.
“I already did.”
“Then wait.”
“The person who stole that letter may be ten feet away.”
“And may be armed.”
Spencer ignored him.
The footprints crossed the polished floor, passed the portrait gallery, and disappeared near the service staircase. A side door stood open, allowing rain to blow inside.
One of the guards arrived carrying a flashlight.
“Mr. Warren, the western alarm was manually disabled.”
“From where?”
“The control panel inside the staff office.”
“Who has access?”
The guard hesitated.
“Nearly every senior employee.”
Spencer’s jaw tightened.
“Lock down the property. No one leaves.”
Lucas lowered his voice.
“That could be considered unlawful detention.”
“They’re employees on private property during an active police investigation.”
“You enjoy making my job difficult.”
“Then charge me more.”
Mabel appeared at the end of the hallway.
“What happened?”
“The letter is gone,” Spencer said.
Her face changed.
“Someone took it?”
“Where were you?”
Mabel looked wounded.
“With the children.”
“I need to ask everyone.”
“I understand.”
Charlee stepped out behind her.
“Is Dexter okay?”
“Yes,” Spencer said.
The girl looked at the wet footprints.
“Who came inside?”
Spencer crouched to her level.
“Someone may have taken something important.”
“Was it the letter?”
He stared at her.
“How did you know?”
“Because bad people always take proof.”
The calm certainty in her voice disturbed him.
“What bad people have you known?”
Charlee looked toward Mabel.
“Can I go back to Dexter?”
Spencer wanted to press her, but Mabel shook her head slightly.
“Let her breathe,” the housekeeper said.
He watched them return to the nursery.
Lucas folded his arms.
“That child has seen more than she’s saying.”
“She’s seven.”
“Exactly. Children notice things adults dismiss.”
The police returned and questioned every staff member. There were eleven employees inside the mansion that evening: Mabel, two kitchen workers, three security guards, a driver, a groundskeeper, a personal assistant, a maintenance supervisor, and Spencer’s estate manager, Everett Shaw.
Everett had worked for the Warren family for twenty-eight years. He had been hired by Spencer’s father and had remained after the older man’s death.
At sixty-three, Everett was distinguished, calm, and almost painfully proper. He had silver hair, immaculate suits, and a habit of speaking as though every sentence had been prepared in advance.
“This is deeply concerning,” Everett said when questioned. “I recommend moving the children to a secure location.”
“They’re staying,” Spencer replied.
“With respect, sir, that may expose you to considerable risk.”
“The newborn was left outside my property. Moving him now may be exactly what the person responsible wants.”
Everett’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
“You believe the threat is internal?”
“I believe someone inside this house disabled the security system.”
“Many people have access.”
“Including you.”
A tense silence passed between them.
Everett finally nodded.
“Including me.”
The officers found no letter and no clear suspect. The wet footprints were partial and contaminated by staff walking through the hallway.
By midnight, the mansion had become a guarded fortress.
Spencer did not sleep.
He sat beside Dexter’s crib, watching the baby’s chest rise and fall. Charlee had fallen asleep in an armchair with the blue teddy bear pressed under her chin.
Mabel entered quietly.
“You should rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve said that since you were fifteen.”
Spencer glanced at her.
“You remember Florence Cooper?”
Mabel’s expression became guarded.
“I remember the name.”
“She worked here.”
“Yes.”
“And my father had a child with her.”
Mabel sat across from him.
“That was the rumor.”
“Was it true?”
“I never saw proof.”
“You worked for my family then.”
“I was a junior maid. Your father kept his private life hidden.”
“Everyone knew what kind of man he was.”
“Knowing and proving are different things.”
Spencer looked at Charlee.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because your father punished anyone who embarrassed him.”
Mabel’s voice carried old bitterness.
“What happened to Florence?”
“She left suddenly. We were told she stole jewelry.”
“Did she?”
“I never believed it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I saw Everett carrying a velvet jewelry case into her room the night before the accusation.”
Spencer turned sharply.
“Everett?”
“I was nineteen and frightened. Your father said Florence confessed. Everett supported his story.”
“You never told the police?”
“There was no investigation. Florence was escorted off the property before sunrise.”
Spencer stood.
“You kept this from me for thirty years.”
“You were a child.”
“I haven’t been a child for a long time.”
Mabel’s eyes hardened.
“And you spent those years refusing to hear anything that complicated your father’s legacy.”
The accusation hit its target.
Spencer looked away.
His father, Conrad Warren, had built the family empire through intimidation, manipulation, and ruthless control. Spencer had despised him while still benefiting from everything he created.
“You’re right,” Spencer admitted.
Mabel’s anger softened.
“Florence may have answers. Go see her.”
At sunrise, Casey arrived with temporary guardianship papers and a court-appointed nurse. Spencer signed every document without complaint.
Casey watched him closely.
“You understand this does not establish paternity.”
“I understand.”
“And Charlee’s placement is separate from Dexter’s.”
“They stay together.”
“That may not be legally possible long-term.”
“Then we make it possible.”
Casey sighed.
“You don’t negotiate. You issue declarations.”
“It saves time.”
“It also makes people hate you.”
“I’ve survived.”
Casey looked at Charlee, who was feeding Dexter with the nurse’s help.
“Survival isn’t the same as living.”
Spencer did not answer.
Before leaving for the hospital, he asked Charlee if she wanted to visit Florence.
Her eyes widened.
“You found her?”
“Yes.”
“Is she awake?”
“Casey says she’s stable.”
Charlee ran to get her shoes.
Mercy General Hospital was crowded and understaffed. Florence Cooper lay in a small room on the seventh floor. She was seventy-four, frail, with silver hair and deep lines around her eyes.
When Charlee entered, Florence began to cry.
“My baby.”
Charlee climbed carefully onto the bed.
“I found you.”
“No, sweetheart. They found me.”
“I knew you weren’t dead.”
Florence held her tightly.
Spencer remained near the doorway, feeling like an intruder.
Then Florence looked at him.
Her face went pale.
“You have his eyes.”
“My father’s?”
“No. Your mother’s.”
Spencer stepped closer.
“I’m Spencer Warren.”
“I know.”
“Casey said you worked for my family.”
Florence glanced at Charlee.
“Sweetheart, would you go with Ms. Bennett to get some juice?”
Charlee looked suspicious.
“You’re going to tell secrets.”
“Yes.”
“Secrets are why families get hurt.”
Florence flinched.
“You’re right. But some secrets must be told carefully.”
Charlee left reluctantly with Casey.
Spencer sat beside the bed.
“Was Charlee’s mother my father’s daughter?”
Florence closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
The answer was direct, but it still felt like an explosion.
“What was her name?”
“Jocelyn.”
Spencer stood so quickly that the chair scraped the floor.
“Jocelyn Cooper?”
Florence nodded.
“The woman named in the letter?”
“What letter?”
Spencer explained what had happened.
Florence began shaking.
“Jocelyn had a baby?”
“You didn’t know?”
“She disappeared eleven months ago. She called me once and said she had entered a private medical program. She wouldn’t explain.”
“Why didn’t you report her missing?”
“I did. The police said she was an adult and had left voluntarily.”
“Who arranged the program?”
Florence looked toward the door.
“Everett Shaw.”
Spencer’s blood turned cold.
“You’re certain?”
“He visited her. Said the Warren Foundation wanted to compensate her privately for what Conrad had done to us.”
“My father never acknowledged her?”
“Never. But Everett knew.”
“What did he offer?”
“Medical care, housing, and a trust. Jocelyn had always struggled financially. Charlee’s father disappeared before she was born. When Everett offered help, she believed him.”
“Why would he involve her in a fertility program?”
“I don’t know.”
Spencer paced toward the window.
“Did Jocelyn ever mention Dr. Pamela Ortiz?”
Florence thought for a moment.
“She said a woman doctor told her she could help build a better future for Charlee.”
Spencer called Lucas.
“Find Pamela now.”
Lucas’s reply came quickly.
“I already did. She’s attending a pediatric charity event at Westbridge Mall.”
“We’re going there.”
Before Spencer could leave, Florence grabbed his wrist.
“Wait.”
Her grip was weak but urgent.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Conrad left documents.”
“My father?”
“He came to see me before he died. He was sick and frightened. He admitted that Everett had been moving money through shell companies for years.”
“Why would he tell you?”
“Because he trusted no one else.”
“That doesn’t sound like my father.”
“He didn’t trust me. He wanted revenge.”
“Where are the documents?”
“I hid them.”
“Where?”
Florence looked toward Charlee’s empty chair.
“Jocelyn knew. If Everett took her, it was because he wanted those records.”
Spencer felt the pieces beginning to align.
Everett had known Jocelyn was Conrad’s daughter. He had offered her money, connected her to Pamela, and possibly arranged the unauthorized use of Spencer’s genetic material.
But why create a child?
And why abandon that child outside Spencer’s mansion?
As Spencer left the hospital, Charlee ran after him.
“I’m coming.”
“No. Stay with your grandmother.”
“You’re going to find Dexter’s mother.”
“How do you know?”
“You make the same face you made when you read the letter.”
Spencer crouched beside her.
“I’ll bring you back to the mansion later.”
Charlee crossed her arms.
“I found Dexter. I know what the car sounded like.”
“What car?”
“The one that drove away from the dumpster.”
“You told the police you didn’t see it.”
“I didn’t. But I heard the engine.”
“What did it sound like?”
“Quiet first. Then loud, like it was angry.”
“That could describe hundreds of cars.”
“There was music.”
“What music?”
Charlee hummed a few notes.
Spencer recognized them immediately.
A classical piano piece Everett played every morning in his vintage sedan.
The estate manager had driven the same custom luxury car for fifteen years.
Spencer stood.
“Casey, keep Charlee with you.”
Charlee grabbed his sleeve.
“You believe me?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t go home alone.”
At Westbridge Mall, Spencer found Pamela near a toy store, speaking to a group of donors. She was forty-one, elegant, and composed until she saw him.
The color drained from her face.
“Spencer.”
“We need to talk.”
“Not here.”
“Here is exactly where we’re talking.”
Several people turned toward them.
Pamela led him into an empty consultation room behind the store.
“What happened?” she asked.
“A newborn was left outside my house.”
She gripped the edge of a table.
“No.”
“He was wrapped in a blue blanket with a letter containing my clinic security code.”
Pamela began crying.
Spencer felt no sympathy.
“What did you do?”
“A year ago, I used your genetic material.”
The confession was quieter than he expected.
“You told me the samples were destroyed.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“One of my patients desperately wanted a child.”
“Who?”
Pamela covered her face.
“Jocelyn Cooper.”
Spencer stepped closer.
“My half sister.”
Pamela looked genuinely shocked.
“What?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No. Everett said she was a distant relative who had no genetic connection to you.”
“Everett arranged it?”
“He funded the entire procedure.”
“And you used my genetic material without consent.”
“I convinced myself it was justified. Your samples were going to be discarded. Jocelyn wanted a child, and Everett said you would never know.”
“Did you understand that you were creating a child between close biological relatives?”
“No. Spencer, I swear I didn’t know.”
He wanted to destroy everything around him.
Instead, he forced himself to speak calmly.
“Where is Jocelyn?”
“I don’t know. She stopped attending appointments three weeks before the delivery.”
“When was Dexter born?”
“Six days ago.”
“Who delivered him?”
“A private physician at a clinic Everett controlled.”
“Name.”
Pamela shook her head.
“I never met him.”
Spencer slammed his palm onto the table.
“A newborn nearly died in a garbage bag!”
Pamela flinched.
“I tried to find Jocelyn. Everett threatened to expose what I had done and destroy my career.”
“You should lose your career.”
“I know.”
“Was she alive when you last spoke?”
“Yes. She was terrified. She said she had discovered why Everett wanted the baby.”
Spencer leaned closer.
“Why?”
Pamela reached into her purse and removed a small flash drive.
“She sent me this the night she disappeared.”
“What’s on it?”
“I was too afraid to open it.”
Spencer took the drive.
Before he could ask another question, his phone rang.
Mabel was calling.
Her voice was panicked.
“Spencer, someone entered the nursery.”
His heart stopped.
“Where are the children?”
“Charlee is with Casey. Dexter is here with me.”
“Is he safe?”
“Yes, but the intruder left something in his crib.”
“What?”
“A photograph of Jocelyn.”
Spencer closed his eyes.
“And on the back,” Mabel continued, “someone wrote: Give us the flash drive, or the next bag will be empty.”
Spencer stared at the device in his hand.
May you like
The traitor knew exactly where he was.
And whatever Jocelyn had uncovered was worth killing an infant to conceal.
