Chapter 4 - The Man Behind the Cameras
Nathaniel Cross had worked for Renick Kavanaugh for nine years.
He had supervised security during Renick's wedding.
He had stood outside the hospital room when Brinley was born.
He had helped carry Elise's coffin.
If Renick had been asked to name five people he trusted completely, Nathaniel would have been one of them.
Now the security chief stood in the estate's surveillance room, staring at a monitor showing a photograph of Micah on the balcony.
“It's not my phone,” Nathaniel said.
Renick stood across from him.
“The number is registered to you.”
“One of my old security lines.”
“Then someone used it.”
“Apparently.”
Renick folded his arms.
“You sound remarkably calm.”
Nathaniel looked exhausted.
“Because if I panic, we lose whatever chance we have of finding the person who actually did this.”
Sully stood by the doorway.
He had insisted on attending.
Renick had allowed it.
But he was watching both men.
Nathaniel pulled up the communications records.
“The number belonged to a temporary surveillance unit we used last winter.”
“Where is the unit now?”
“Decommissioned.”
“By whom?”
Nathaniel paused.
“Me.”
Renick said nothing.
The silence became unbearable.
Nathaniel's jaw tightened.
“You think I tried to kill Brinley?”
“I think someone used your credentials to threaten a seven-year-old boy.”
“Then look at the server.”
“I'm looking.”
Nathaniel opened another screen.
A series of camera timestamps appeared.
He highlighted a section.
“Watch the west corridor.”
The image showed an empty hallway.
At 2:07 p.m., the feed flickered.
Then returned.
The hallway appeared unchanged.
“That's it?” Renick asked.
“No.”
Nathaniel enlarged the timestamp.
“Look at the chandelier.”
Renick leaned closer.
The chandelier's lower crystals hung at a slightly different angle.
“The footage repeats,” Nathaniel said.
“Somebody inserted a loop.”
“For how long?”
“Eighteen minutes.”
“Who can do that?”
“Four people.”
Nathaniel clicked through the system-access list.
His name appeared first.
Two technicians followed.
The fourth name made Renick's eyes narrow.
Callum Kavanaugh.
Renick's younger brother.
For years, Callum had been responsible for Kavanaugh Holdings' technology and logistics operations.
He lived in a waterfront mansion in Charlestown.
He attended charity dinners, shook hands with politicians, and smiled more often than Renick.
The public liked Callum.
His brother had never trusted that smile.
“Why does Callum have security access?” Renick asked.
Nathaniel looked toward Sully.
Sully answered.
“Your brother requested temporary clearance during last month's infrastructure upgrade.”
“Who approved it?”
“I did.”
Renick turned slowly.
Sully's face remained neutral.
“Callum said he was coordinating the contractors.”
“And you gave him access to my daughter's floor?”
“The authorization was limited.”
“Apparently not limited enough.”
Sully lowered his eyes.
Renick stared at the screen.
Callum had spent years telling him he was too protective of Brinley.
That grief had made him irrational.
That the estate needed fewer guards, not more.
Renick had ignored him.
Now he wondered whether that had been a mistake.
“Where is Callum?”
Sully checked his phone.
“Expected at the house for dinner.”
“Cancel dinner.”
“Sir?”
“Tell him Brinley is tired.”
Renick glanced at Nathaniel.
“And don't let him know what we found.”
Meanwhile, Belle was packing Micah's backpack in the basement apartment.
The apartment had been provided as part of her employment.
Two small bedrooms.
A kitchenette.
Low ceilings.
A narrow window facing a garden wall.
It wasn't much.
But it was clean, and for the first time in months Belle had been able to save money instead of deciding which bill to pay late.
Now she wanted to leave.
Micah sat on his bed, drawing.
“Are we moving again?” he asked.
Belle stopped folding his sweatshirt.
“Maybe.”
“Because of what happened?”
“Because I need to keep you safe.”
He considered this.
“Brinley's not safe either.”
Belle looked at him.
“I know.”
“Then who keeps her safe if we leave?”
“Her dad.”
Micah frowned.
“He wasn't there.”
Belle had no answer.
Micah returned to his drawing.
She watched him for a moment.
“What are you making?”
“The balcony.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“Because I don't want to forget.”
He held up the paper.
The drawing showed two children, a railing, a bird feeder, and something small beside the balcony doors.
Belle pointed.
“What's that?”
“A person.”
“Where?”
“Behind the glass.”
Belle leaned closer.
The figure was drawn in a dark coat.
“Micah, you told me you didn't see anyone.”
“I didn't see their face.”
“Then how do you know someone was there?”
“Because I saw their shoes.”
Belle stared.
“What shoes?”
“Red ones.”
“Red?”
“Dark red.”
He reached for another crayon.
“Like the shoes that lady wore in the hallway.”
Belle's breath caught.
“What lady?”
“The one who told me not to talk to Brinley.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
Belle knelt.
“Micah, who told you that?”
He looked confused.
“I thought you knew.”
“Tell me.”
“The lady who comes when Brinley has her lessons.”
Belle felt her skin turn cold.
Brinley's private tutor was a woman named Dr. Mara Voss.
A child-behavior specialist hired six months earlier.
Belle had met her twice.
She remembered perfectly polished hair, expensive perfume, and a burgundy leather handbag.
But not her shoes.
“Did she say anything else?”
Micah nodded.
“She said Brinley makes up stories.”
“What kind of stories?”
Micah looked toward his bedroom door.
May you like
Then whispered:
“Stories about the night her mommy died.”
