CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 3
THE BUTLER'S CONFESSION
The lock clicked again.
Once.
Twice.
Then silence.
Complete, suffocating silence.
I couldn't see Victor.
I couldn't see Graves.
I could barely see my own hands.
“Victor?”
“I'm here.”
His voice came from somewhere to my left.
“Don't move.”
“I can't see anything.”
“Stay where you are.”
I heard him fumbling against the wall.
Then a metallic sound.
“Graves?”
No answer.
“Graves!”
Still nothing.
My heart began pounding.
“Where is he?”
Victor didn't answer.
Then something scraped across the floor.
A soft, dragging sound.
I froze.
“What was that?”
Victor grabbed my wrist.
“Behind me.”
I turned.
A tiny emergency light flickered on near the floor.
Its weak red glow revealed the room.
Victor was standing beside me.
But Graves was gone.
The old butler had disappeared.
The photograph he had been holding lay on the floor.
And the hidden door was open.
Victor rushed toward it.
“Graves!”
We ran into the corridor.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
No movement.
Only darkness stretching toward the east wing.
Victor stopped.
“He knew.”
I picked up the photograph.
“What?”
“He knew someone was coming.”
“How?”
“He left the photograph behind.”
I looked at it.
The picture of the little boy.
Evan.
And Serena.
Victor took it from me.
“She's been involved since before I met her.”
“But why?”
He stared at the photograph.
“I don't know.”
Then he looked toward the hospital bag still hanging from my shoulder.
“Your phone.”
“What?”
“Call the police.”
I pulled it out.
No signal.
Victor's phone showed the same.
“No service.”
He looked at the corridor.
“Someone disabled the signal.”
A cold feeling settled in my stomach.
“This wasn't Serena.”
Victor nodded.
“No.”
“Then who?”
He didn't answer.
Because somewhere upstairs, a door slowly opened.
We left the hidden room through the service passage.
Victor carried a flashlight.
I followed closely.
The passage was narrow enough that my shoulders brushed the stone walls.
Dust floated through the beam.
At the end was a staircase.
Victor stopped.
“What?”
He pointed.
There was fresh dirt on the steps.
Someone had walked through recently.
Barely an hour ago.
I crouched.
A shoeprint.
Small.
Women's size.
I looked at Victor.
“Serena?”
“Maybe.”
He stepped forward.
Then stopped again.
There was something else.
A child's footprint.
Tiny.
Barely visible in the dust.
My stomach tightened.
“Victor.”
He stared.
“That's impossible.”
The footprint was fresh.
Someone had walked through the passage with a child.
Or—
Someone had carried one.
Victor touched the dust.
“Ethan?”
“No.”
His voice was immediate.
“Ethan is at the hospital.”
Then we heard something.
A faint sound.
A child crying.
Victor's face changed.
“Evan?”
The crying came again.
From behind the wall.
Victor ran.
“Wait!”
He didn't.
He reached the end of the corridor and pushed against the stone.
Nothing happened.
He pushed harder.
A hidden panel moved.
Behind it was a small room.
Empty.
Except for a wooden chair.
And a tape recorder.
The crying stopped.
Victor stared at it.
I whispered:
“It's a trap.”
He nodded.
Then pressed play.
Static filled the room.
A woman's voice emerged.
Eleanor.
“Victor, if you are hearing this, then I am already dead.”
Victor closed his eyes.
The recording continued.
“I need you to understand something. Your father did not take Evan because he hated him.”
A pause.
“He took him because he was afraid of him.”
Victor opened his eyes.
“Afraid of a baby?”
Eleanor's recorded voice continued.
“Evan was born with something your father believed belonged only to the Blackwood bloodline.”
I looked at Victor.
“What?”
The recording crackled.
“He carried the Blackwood mark.”
Victor frowned.
“What mark?”
Eleanor continued:
“Not a physical mark. A legal one.”
I didn't understand.
Neither did Victor.
Then she said:
“The original Blackwood trust was not created for one heir.”
Victor went still.
“It was created for three.”
The recording stopped.
Static.
Then another voice came through.
A man's voice.
Older.
Cold.
Victor recognized it.
“My father.”
The voice said:
“One child can inherit.”
Eleanor answered:
“No.”
“Three children will destroy the family.”
“Then perhaps the family deserves to be destroyed.”
A sharp sound.
Then the recording ended.
Victor stared at the machine.
His hands were shaking.
“Three.”
I whispered:
“What does that mean?”
He didn't answer.
The answer came from the doorway.
Graves stood there.
Alive.
His face was wet with tears.
And in his hands was a folder.
“You finally heard it.”
Victor turned.
“Where were you?”
“Finding this.”
Graves held up the folder.
“The truth your father buried.”
Victor walked toward him.
“You're going to tell me everything.”
Graves nodded.
“Yes.”
“No more secrets.”
“No more.”
“You knew about Evan.”
“Yes.”
“You knew about Serena.”
“Yes.”
“You knew about Eleanor's death.”
Graves looked down.
“Yes.”
Victor's voice broke.
“And you let me believe she died in an accident.”
“I was ordered to.”
“You could have told me.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The night before she died.”
Victor stared at him.
“What happened?”
Graves looked at me.
Then back at Victor.
“She came to me.”
“Eleanor?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Graves swallowed.
“She said she knew she was going to die.”
Victor's face tightened.
“Why?”
“She had discovered your father's plan.”
“What plan?”
“To erase the second and third children from the family.”
Victor shook his head.
“Three children.”
“Yes.”
“Ethan.”
“Evan.”
“And the third?”
Graves didn't answer.
Victor grabbed his arm.
“Who is the third child?”
Graves closed his eyes.
“I don't know.”
Victor released him.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I never saw the third child.”
“But Eleanor did.”
“Yes.”
“Then where is she?”
Graves looked toward the floor.
“We don't know.”
The room seemed to shrink.
I whispered:
“She.”
Graves nodded.
“A girl.”
Victor stared at him.
“How could you not know?”
“Because your father erased every record.”
“Then how do you know she existed?”
Graves opened the folder.
Inside was a hospital document.
The date was the same day Ethan and Evan were born.
The names of two infants had been crossed out.
Below them was another entry.
BABY GIRL — FEMALE — SURVIVED
Victor's breath caught.
“Survived.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Graves looked at him.
“That is the question I have spent twenty-three years trying to answer.”
Victor sat down.
For the first time since I had known him, he looked old.
Not powerful.
Not wealthy.
Just tired.
He stared at the document.
“Why didn't Eleanor tell me?”
“She tried.”
“When?”
“The night before she died.”
“What did she say?”
Graves looked at the recorder.
“She told me that if anything happened to her, I had to protect the children.”
“You failed.”
Graves accepted the accusation.
“Yes.”
Victor looked up.
“Why?”
“Because I was a coward.”
Silence.
Graves continued.
“I had served your father since I was seventeen. I knew what he was capable of. I knew what happened to people who disobeyed him.”
“But you still helped him.”
“Yes.”
“You carried my son away.”
“Yes.”
“You gave him to a stranger.”
“Yes.”
Victor's voice became almost a whisper.
“And then you watched me bury my wife.”
Graves nodded.
“I did.”
“Why should I trust you now?”
“You shouldn't.”
That answer silenced Victor.
Graves looked at me.
“You shouldn't trust me either.”
I held Ethan's photograph against my chest.
“Then why are you telling us?”
“Because I am old.”
He looked at Victor.
“And because I have spent twenty-three years waking up every morning knowing that a child was somewhere in this world believing his father abandoned him.”
Victor looked away.
“I didn't know.”
“I know.”
“That doesn't make it better.”
“No.”
Graves placed another photograph on the table.
It showed Serena.
Younger.
Much younger.
She was standing outside a hospital.
Beside her was a man.
Victor stared.
“Who is that?”
Graves shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I know his name.”
Victor leaned forward.
“Then tell me.”
“Thomas Vale.”
Victor's expression changed.
“Vale?”
“Yes.”
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Thomas Vale was my father's attorney.”
Graves nodded.
“Exactly.”
Victor stood.
“My father used him.”
“Yes.”
“And Serena knew him?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Graves looked at me.
“Serena was not a stranger to the Blackwood family.”
“What does that mean?”
“She was born into it.”
Victor went completely still.
“What?”
Graves opened another document.
A birth certificate.
The mother's name was Eleanor's sister.
The father's name was—
Victor's father.
I stared at the paper.
“That means…”
Graves nodded.
“Serena is your half-sister.”
Victor couldn't speak.
I looked at him.
He looked like someone had struck him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“My father had a daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Serena.”
“Yes.”
Victor stepped backward.
“Then she didn't marry into this family.”
Graves shook his head.
“No.”
“She came back into it.”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
All those years.
All those dinners.
All those arguments.
All those moments when Serena had claimed to know what was best for Ethan.
She wasn't simply Victor's wife.
She was part of the family secret.
She had been connected to the Blackwoods long before any of us knew her name.
Victor whispered:
“She wanted the inheritance.”
Graves nodded.
“And she knew about Ethan.”
“Yes.”
“Evan.”
“Yes.”
“And the third child.”
“Yes.”
Victor looked toward the darkness.
“Why hurt Ethan?”
Graves answered:
“Because Ethan was the only heir she could reach.”
Victor's eyes hardened.
“She wanted him removed.”
“Yes.”
“And if she succeeded?”
“Then she could control the trust.”
Victor shook his head.
“No.”
Graves looked at him.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“Serena wasn't acting alone.”
The room became silent again.
I felt a chill.
“Who helped her?”
Graves didn't answer.
Victor stepped toward him.
“Who?”
Graves looked at the folder.
Then at the door.
Finally, he whispered:
“Someone who has been living in this house for years.”
My heart began pounding.
“Who?”
Graves's eyes moved toward me.
I couldn't breathe.
“It's someone you trust.”
Victor reached for his phone.
“Give me the name.”
Graves shook his head.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because if I say it aloud, they will know I have told you.”
Victor grabbed him.
“Then write it down.”
Graves hesitated.
Then pulled a pen from his pocket.
He wrote a name on the back of the photograph.
Folded it.
And handed it to Victor.
Victor opened it.
His face changed instantly.
He looked at me.
I had never seen that expression before.
Fear.
Real fear.
“What?”
He couldn't speak.
“What does it say?”
He handed me the paper.
I unfolded it.
There was one name.
DR. ADRIAN BLACK.
I looked at Victor.
“Who is he?”
Victor stared at the name.
Then whispered:
“Ethan's doctor.”
My stomach dropped.
The same doctor who had delivered Ethan.
The same doctor who had signed his birth certificate.
The same doctor who had told Victor that Eleanor had died from complications.
The same doctor who had treated Ethan after the accident.
The same doctor who had been in the house that afternoon.
I looked at Graves.
“Why would Ethan's doctor be involved?”
The old butler's eyes filled with fear.
“Because he wasn't only Eleanor's doctor.”
“Then what was he?”
Graves whispered:
“He was there when the third child was born.”
Before anyone could respond, Victor's phone rang.
The screen showed one name.
DR. ADRIAN BLACK.
Victor stared at it.
Nobody moved.
The phone rang again.
And again.
Then Victor answered.
He didn't say hello.
Neither did the doctor.
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then a man's voice came through the speaker.
“Mr. Blackwood.”
Victor's face hardened.
“What do you want?”
A pause.
Then:
“You found Graves's records.”
Victor looked at the butler.
“How do you know that?”
The doctor laughed softly.
“Because Graves was never supposed to survive long enough to show them to you.”
My blood ran cold.
Victor stood.
“What did you do?”
Another pause.
Then the doctor said:
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“To warn you.”
“About what?”
The doctor's voice became almost a whisper.
“Don't look for the third child.”
Victor tightened his grip on the phone.
“Why?”
“Because she has already found you.”
The line went dead.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then a sound came from upstairs.
A child's laughter.
Soft.
Brief.
Impossible.
I looked at Victor.
He looked at Graves.
Graves's face had gone completely white.
“That's not possible,” he whispered.
“What?”
He pointed toward the ceiling.
“That room has been locked for twenty-three years.”
The laughter came again.
This time, followed by three slow knocks.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Victor ran toward the stairs.
I followed.
Graves came behind us.
At the end of the upper hallway stood a door I had never seen opened.
The old nursery.
The room Eleanor had used before Ethan was born.
Victor reached for the handle.
It was locked.
He turned to Graves.
“Open it.”
Graves shook his head.
“I don't have the key.”
Victor looked at me.
Then at the door.
Another three knocks sounded from the other side.
And then a little girl's voice whispered:
“Daddy?”
Victor stopped breathing.
May you like
Because the voice sounded exactly like Eleanor.
And from inside the locked nursery, someone began to cry.
