Chapter 7 - The Voice in the Nursery
Emma dropped beside the stretcher.
Adrian pulled her behind the stone fireplace.
Marcus shouted through the darkness.
“Security lockdown!”
Emergency lights flickered red along the hallway.
Mrs. Whitmore cried out.
Emma crawled back toward her.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Stay down.”
Another shot echoed upstairs.
Then silence.
Adrian’s voice came from the dark.
“Emma.”
“I’m here.”
“Stay with Whitmore.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
Emma almost laughed.
“This isn’t your boardroom.”
He appeared in the dim red light.
For half a second, their eyes met.
Then the old fear between them disappeared.
Not trust yet.
Something simpler.
Shared danger.
Marcus ran past.
“Shots came from west staircase.”
“Vanessa?” Adrian asked.
“Missing.”
“Richard?”
“Still in library with two guards.”
“Who fired?”
“We don’t know.”
Emma stood.
“The nursery.”
Adrian looked at her.
“Someone cut the power because they know what we’re looking for.”
“Exactly.”
They headed upstairs with Marcus.
The old nursery sat on the third floor.
Emma had cleaned it once.
A forgotten room.
Pale wallpaper.
Covered furniture.
Dust under the radiator.
Adrian stopped outside the door.
It stood open.
“That was locked earlier.”
Marcus entered first.
Clear.
Emma followed.
The room smelled of smoke and old wood.
The window seat was open.
Empty.
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“We’re too late.”
Emma moved closer.
A section of paneling had been ripped away.
No recording.
No envelope.
Nothing.
Then she noticed dust.
A clean rectangular mark.
Something had definitely been there.
Marcus examined the window.
“Someone exited?”
“Third floor,” Adrian said.
“Not likely.”
Emma looked beneath the window seat.
A thread caught on one nail.
Dark blue.
She picked it up.
“Vanessa was wearing cream.”
Adrian nodded.
“Richard dark gray.”
Marcus wore black.
Mrs. Whitmore had worn navy.
Emma’s pulse jumped.
But Mrs. Whitmore had been downstairs.
“Someone else is in the house.”
Marcus spoke into his radio.
“Full sweep.”
Adrian’s phone buzzed.
Battery backup had restored some communication.
He answered.
“Vale.”
His face changed.
He put it on speaker.
A distorted voice filled the nursery.
“You should have left your father buried.”
Emma’s skin prickled.
Adrian’s expression became cold.
“Who is this?”
“You know.”
“No.”
A soft laugh.
Then the call ended.
Marcus traced the number.
“Internal extension.”
Adrian looked around.
“Someone called from inside the estate.”
Emma thought of the dark blue thread.
Then something else.
“The shots.”
Marcus looked at her.
“What?”
“Were they fired at anyone?”
“We haven’t found damage yet.”
“So they may have been a distraction.”
Adrian understood.
“To get us away from the nursery.”
Emma nodded.
Marcus swore.
A guard called from downstairs.
“Sir.”
Marcus listened.
His expression tightened.
“Richard Bellamy is gone.”
Adrian stared.
“How?”
“One guard unconscious.”
“Other?”
“Missing.”
Emma’s stomach sank.
“Vanessa?”
“No sign.”
Adrian headed toward the hall.
Emma stopped him.
“The recording.”
“What about it?”
“If Richard knew where it was, why wait until tonight?”
Adrian looked at her.
“He didn’t know.”
“Exactly.”
Emma turned toward the torn panel.
“Someone learned its location when Mrs. Whitmore told us.”
Marcus frowned.
“She told us downstairs.”
“Who was close enough to hear?”
Adrian looked toward him.
Security staff.
Paramedics.
House staff.
Richard.
Maybe Vanessa.
Maybe someone listening through cameras.
Emma’s gaze rose toward the ceiling.
“Does the house security system record audio?”
Marcus shook his head.
“Not legally.”
“Not legally?”
Adrian looked at him.
Marcus hesitated.
“Arthur had several old internal systems.”
“Hidden microphones?”
“I’ve heard stories.”
Adrian’s face hardened.
“Find them.”
Emma examined the window seat again.
Sarah had hidden the recording.
Someone had removed it minutes ago.
But Sarah Carter had been careful.
Emma knew her mother.
She never trusted one copy.
When Emma was a child, Sarah had hidden spare house keys in three places.
Tax documents in two.
Family photographs in duplicate albums.
“If Mom recorded something important,” Emma whispered, “she made a copy.”
Adrian looked at her.
“Where?”
Emma closed her eyes.
Think.
Sarah had visited the Vale house once.
She could not easily return.
She would have needed a place accessible to someone she trusted.
Mrs. Whitmore.
Maybe Arthur.
Maybe no one.
Then Emma remembered the photograph.
Lucy in the yellow coat.
The necklace.
The cracked paperback in Emma’s cardboard box.
Her mother’s favorite book.
Emma’s eyes opened.
She ran.
“Where are you going?”
“My box.”
They raced downstairs.
The foyer remained half-dark.
Her belongings were still beside the library.
Emma dropped to her knees.
She grabbed the paperback.
Pride and Prejudice.
Cracked spine.
Sarah’s handwritten notes in the margins.
Emma had carried it from apartment to apartment for seven years.
She opened the back cover.
Nothing.
Then she pressed the spine.
Something clicked.
Adrian crouched beside her.
A narrow strip of paper slid out.
No recording.
A number.
Eight digits.
Emma stared.
“What is it?”
Adrian took the page.
“Could be a storage code.”
Marcus said, “Safe deposit.”
Emma flipped through the book.
Several letters in Sarah’s margin notes had tiny dots beneath them.
She had always thought they were ink flaws.
Adrian noticed too.
“What do they spell?”
Emma began writing them.
E.
L.
E.
A.
N.
O.
R.
Then another word.
B.
O.
S.
T.
O.
N.
Adrian stared.
“My mother?”
“Boston.”
Marcus asked, “Address?”
Emma checked more pages.
Numbers appeared through the markings.
17.
Beacon.
Something.
Emma’s pulse raced.
“Beacon Street.”
Adrian took out his phone.
Marcus stopped him.
“Offline search only.”
They used a secure device.
The address belonged to a private foundation.
Harlan Behavioral Trust.
Emma stared.
“Dr. Harlan.”
Adrian’s face darkened.
The foundation had closed.
But property records showed the building was still owned by a shell corporation.
Emma looked at him.
“Someone kept it.”
Marcus said, “We can have people there in an hour.”
Adrian shook his head.
“No police.”
Emma looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because if Pike was compromised, we don’t know who else is.”
Marcus nodded.
“I’ll call our Boston team.”
Before he could, Mrs. Whitmore screamed from the sitting room.
Emma ran.
The stretcher was empty.
A paramedic lay unconscious on the floor.
The rear garden door stood open.
Rain blew inside.
Emma froze.
“No.”
Adrian reached the doorway.
Outside, taillights vanished beyond the gates.
Mrs. Whitmore was gone.
Marcus shouted into his radio.
Emma stared into the rain.
Whoever had taken the recording had now taken the only living witness who could explain it.
Adrian’s phone rang again.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A woman’s voice came through.
Older.
Unsteady.
But clear.
“Adrian?”
His face drained of color.
No one moved.
The woman inhaled shakily.
“My son.”
Adrian’s hand began trembling.
May you like
Emma knew before he said the name.
“Mother?”
