Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPH UNDER THE CHAIR
Nobody spoke.
Dominic took the photograph from the security officer.
His fingers tightened around its edges.
He knew the woman.
He knew the suit his father wore.
He knew the old house behind them.
But the baby was impossible.
His mother had died when Dominic was twenty-one.
His parents had been married for thirty-four years.
They had one child.
Dominic.
There had never been another baby.
At least, that was what he had been told.
He turned the photograph over.
A date had been written on the back.
Twenty-seven years earlier.
Three years before his mother died.
Below the date were four words.
KEEP HER SAFE. ALWAYS.
Dominic looked at Rachel.
“Where did this come from?”
“I don't know.”
“Lily?”
The child was still sitting beside the doll.
She nodded toward the chair.
“Grandma put it there.”
“Your grandmother?”
“My mommy's mommy.”
Rachel looked confused.
“My mother died before Lily was born.”
Lily frowned.
“Not that grandma.”
Dominic felt another piece move into place.
“Which grandmother?”
“The lady from the picture.”
Rachel stared at her daughter.
Dominic looked at the photograph again.
His mother.
Holding a baby.
The baby's face was turned slightly away.
But the bracelet was visible.
A thin silver bracelet with a tiny engraved rose.
The same bracelet Rose Caruso wore.
Dominic had given it to her himself when she was born.
He had never seen another one.
He suddenly remembered something from the night of the triplets' birth.
A nurse had told him Rose had been born with a faint silver mark around her wrist.
Dominic had assumed it was pressure from the blanket.
He had never thought about it again.
Now he looked at his daughter.
Then at the photograph.
Then at Lily.
“What does the doll have inside?”
Lily hugged it.
“I can't say.”
Dominic sat down.
He was no longer speaking to her as an employer.
He was speaking to a frightened child.
“Lily, I need to know if someone is hurting my children.”
She looked at him.
“No one is hurting them.”
“Then what is happening?”
“The doll helps.”
“How?”
She whispered,
“It remembers.”
Dominic stared.
“Remembers what?”
Lily looked toward the door.
“The room.”
Dr. Grant exchanged a glance with Dominic.
“She's five,” Rachel said quickly. “She doesn't understand what she's saying.”
“I know,” Dominic replied.
But the words bothered him.
The room.
The doll.
The transmitter.
The photograph.
They were not separate anymore.
They were pieces.
Dominic just didn't know what picture they formed.
His security chief, Marco Bellini, entered.
He was Dominic's most trusted security man.
“Sir.”
“Tell me you found something useful.”
Marco held up a tablet.
“We checked the nursery cameras.”
“Go on.”
“There are gaps.”
“How long?”
“Fourteen minutes each night.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“Since when?”
“Three weeks.”
“Who disabled them?”
Marco shook his head.
“We're checking.”
Dominic stood.
“Show me.”
Marco pulled up footage.
At 2:14 every morning, the nursery cameras went dark.
At 2:28, they returned.
The triplets usually woke during those fourteen minutes.
Dominic had assumed they were waking naturally.
Marco enlarged the final frame before the blackout.
A shadow appeared near the nursery door.
Someone was standing there.
Tall.
Still.
The next frame showed the empty hallway.
Then black.
Dominic looked at Marco.
“Who has access?”
“Only six people.”
“Names.”
Marco listed them.
Two nannies.
Two security officers.
The night nurse.
And one more.
Dominic's expression changed.
“Daniel?”
Marco nodded.
“Mr. Price.”
Daniel Price had been Dominic's chief operations adviser for eleven years.
He had helped build the Caruso organization into something far more legitimate than the business Dominic had inherited.
Daniel knew every schedule.
Every security procedure.
Every property.
Every weakness.
Dominic trusted him.
Or had.
“Bring him here.”
Marco hesitated.
“He left the estate twenty minutes ago.”
“Where?”
“Downtown.”
Dominic looked at the photograph.
“Find him.”
Marco nodded.
Then Dominic noticed something else.
A small red thread was caught on the corner of the chair.
He pulled it free.
It matched the lining of his father's old coat.
Dominic had inherited that coat after his father's death.
He kept it in his study.
He hadn't worn it in years.
He turned toward the hallway.
“Bring me my father's coat.”
Marco stared.
“Sir?”
“Now.”
Ten minutes later, the coat arrived.
Dominic laid it on the table.
The red thread matched perfectly.
His father's coat had been inside a locked cedar chest.
Dominic opened it himself after his father died.
Or so he thought.
He ran his fingers along the inside seam.
There was a tear.
Recently repaired.
Someone had opened the lining.
He pulled at the stitching.
A small metal key fell onto the table.
Lily gasped.
“That one.”
Dominic looked at her.
“You've seen it?”
She nodded.
“Grandma had it.”
“Where?”
“She put it in the doll.”
Rachel stepped forward.
“Lily.”
The little girl looked frightened.
“I didn't do anything.”
Dominic softened.
“You're not in trouble.”
Lily looked at him.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She slowly handed him the doll.
This time, she didn't resist.
Dominic held it.
He found the seam on the back.
There was a hidden zipper.
Inside was a small metal capsule.
He removed it.
Then he heard a sound.
Not from the doll.
From the nursery doorway.
Someone was breathing heavily.
Dominic turned.
One of the nannies stood there.
She was pale.
Her name was Helen.
She had worked for the family for eight years.
“Mr. Caruso…”
Dominic looked at her.
“What?”
Helen's eyes fell on the photograph.
Then the key.
Then the doll.
She began to cry.
“I was told never to let you see that.”
Dominic's voice became dangerously quiet.
“Who told you?”
Helen shook her head.
“I can't.”
“Who?”
She looked toward Lily.
Then toward the triplets.
Finally, she whispered,
“Your father.”
Dominic's face hardened.
“My father has been dead for four years.”
“I know.”
“Then stop lying.”
Helen covered her mouth.
“I didn't know he was dead.”
Silence.
Dominic stepped closer.
“What do you mean?”
Helen's eyes filled with tears.
“He came here after you thought he died.”
Dominic stared at her.
“That's impossible.”
Helen shook her head.
“No, sir.”
She looked toward the photograph.
“He came to the estate three years ago.”
Dominic couldn't breathe.
“Three years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Helen swallowed.
“To see Rose.”
The nursery went silent.
Dominic looked at his daughter.
Then at the old photograph.
Then at the doll.
And finally at Helen.
“Why would my father come here to see my daughter?”
Helen closed her eyes.
“Because Rose wasn't the child he was looking for.”
Dominic's blood ran cold.
May you like
Helen opened her eyes.
“He was looking for the baby in that photograph.”
