Chapter 3 - The Name Hidden Inside the Recording Device
Dr. Adrian Keller stood in the doorway.
He didn’t look surprised.
That was the first thing I noticed.
He looked like he already knew what I had found.
My hand tightened around the small recording device hidden behind my back.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The room felt different with him standing there.
The same room where two children slept.
The same room where someone had secretly listened to them.
“Miss Morgan,” Keller said calmly.
His voice was controlled.
Almost too controlled.
“What are you doing?”
I forced myself to stay still.
“I could ask you the same question.”
His eyes moved around the room.
Then back to me.
“I came to check on the boys.”
“The boys are resting.”
“Then why are you here?”
I looked at the device in my hand.
I wanted to show it to him.
I wanted to see his reaction.
But something stopped me.
A feeling.
A warning.
People who were innocent usually wanted answers.
People who were guilty usually wanted control.
And Dr. Keller looked like a man trying to keep control.
“I was organizing their room,” I said.
He nodded slowly.
“Of course.”
The way he said it made my skin crawl.
He knew I was lying.
And I knew he was lying too.
Before he could say anything else, footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Vincent.
The doctor immediately changed his expression.
The cold confidence disappeared.
He became professional again.
“Everything okay?” Vincent asked as he entered.
I looked between them.
“Yes,” Keller answered quickly.
Too quickly.
Vincent noticed.
He noticed everything.
That was something I was beginning to understand about him.
He was not careless.
He was desperate.
There was a difference.
“I was just checking the room,” Keller continued.
Vincent looked at me.
“Claire?”
I hesitated.
Only for a second.
But Keller saw it.
“I found something unusual,” I said.
The doctor’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Vincent stepped closer.
“What?”
I looked at Keller.
Then back at Vincent.
“A recording device.”
Silence.
The words hit the room like a physical force.
Vincent’s face lost all emotion.
“What did you say?”
I pulled the device from behind my back.
“This was hidden behind the wall panel.”
Vincent took it from me.
His hands were shaking.
Not much.
But they were.
“This was inside their room?”
I nodded.
His eyes moved toward the doctor.
And for the first time since I met him, I saw Vincent Vale look completely lost.
“Adrian?”
The doctor immediately raised his hands.
“Vincent, think carefully before you accuse anyone.”
“I didn’t accuse you.”
“No.”
Keller looked at the device.
“But you’re thinking it.”
That sentence made the room colder.
Vincent stepped forward.
“My sons have been sick for three years.”
“I know.”
“Someone has been monitoring their room.”
“I know.”
“Someone had access to a private area of my house.”
Keller sighed.
“You’re letting emotions control your judgment.”
I watched him carefully.
Because he did not deny it.
He never once said:
I didn’t put that there.
He only talked about Vincent’s emotions.
That was not an answer.
That was a distraction.
“I think we should examine the device,” I said.
Keller looked at me.
“You?”
The word carried insult.
“You are a nanny.”
“And I found something nobody else did.”
His jaw tightened.
Vincent looked at him.
“Leave.”
The doctor blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Vincent—”
“Leave my house.”
For the first time, Dr. Keller looked nervous.
Not angry.
Nervous.
“I have been treating your sons for years.”
“And maybe that was the problem.”
The doctor stared at him.
Then at me.
His expression hardened.
“This woman doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
I didn’t respond.
Because I knew something.
The truth did not need to shout.
It only needed time.
After Keller left, Vincent locked the office door.
He placed the recording device on his desk.
“What do we do?”
It was strange hearing those words from him.
A billionaire asking me what to do.
“I think we listen.”
Vincent looked at the device.
Then nodded.
He connected it to his computer.
The file list appeared.
There were hundreds of recordings.
Dates.
Times.
Hours of audio.
My stomach turned.
“How long has this been recording?”
Vincent checked the oldest file.
His face changed.
“Three years.”
The same time his sons became sick.
Neither of us spoke.
We opened the first recording.
At first, there was only silence.
Then a voice.
A man.
Calm.
Cold.
“Subject response remains consistent.”
I looked at Vincent.
He looked back at me.
The recording continued.
“The symptoms appear naturally occurring.”
A pause.
Then another voice.
A woman.
“You’re sure nobody suspects?”
My heart started beating faster.
Vincent leaned closer.
The woman continued.
“He trusts you completely.”
The recording ended.
Vincent immediately stopped it.
His face was pale.
“Who was that?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I knew.
Not the woman.
But the situation.
Someone close to him.
Someone trusted.
Someone who had access.
We listened to another recording.
Then another.
Every file revealed the same thing.
Someone was watching.
Someone was documenting.
Someone knew exactly what was happening to Ethan and Noah.
But the worst part was not the recordings.
It was the dates.
Every recording started one day before the boys’ symptoms got worse.
Like someone was waiting for something to happen.
Late that evening, I went back upstairs.
The boys were awake.
They looked at me immediately.
“Did you find it?” Ethan whispered.
I stopped.
“How did you know?”
The twins looked at each other.
Then Noah answered.
“Because the person who put it there told us.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who?”
The boys became silent.
I sat beside them.
“You can tell me.”
Ethan looked toward the door.
“He said we couldn’t tell Dad.”
“Who said that?”
The boy’s voice dropped.
“The person who brought the medicine.”
I froze.
“What medicine?”
The twins looked confused.
“The one that makes us sleepy.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Who gives you the medicine?”
They pointed.
Not toward the door.
Not toward the hallway.
Toward the bathroom.
I walked slowly.
Inside the bathroom was a small cabinet.
Locked.
I looked at the boys.
“Who has the key?”
Noah whispered:
“Dr. Keller.”
My hand reached for the cabinet.
But before I touched it, my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
My fingers went cold as I opened it.
There was only one sentence.
“Stop searching, Claire Morgan.”
Then another message appeared.
A photo.
A photo taken inside the mansion.
Of me.
Standing outside the boys’ bedroom.
Taken only minutes ago.
I looked at the screen.
Then slowly turned toward the dark hallway behind me.
May you like
Someone was inside the house.
And they were watching me.
