Chapter 2 - THE WINE THAT SHOULD NEVER HAVE REACHED THE STUDY
Emma stopped outside the butler’s pantry.
She knew she was breaking her promise.
Her mother had told her to remain downstairs, invisible to the people who lived and worked inside the Holloway estate, but Emma had already waited far longer than thirty minutes, and worry had finally beaten obedience.
Walter Pike’s voice came through the partly open pantry door.
“Is the tray ready?”
Another man answered.
“Yes.”
Emma tightened both arms around her stuffed rabbit.
She could not see the stranger’s face at first.
Only a dark suit, polished shoes, and one hand resting beside the silver serving tray.
On that wrist was a cuff link with a blue stone.
Walter stared at the wine bottle.
“This is not what we agreed.”
The stranger’s voice lowered.
“You agreed to follow instructions.”
“You said he would be sick for a few days.”
“And that is all you need to know.”
Walter’s face looked unlike anything Emma had ever seen.
The household manager was always controlled.
Always precise.
Always the person correcting everyone else.
Now his hands were shaking.
“I have served Grant since he was fourteen.”
“Then serve him now.”
The stranger pushed the bottle closer.
Walter stepped back.
“What did you put in it?”
Emma stopped breathing.
The stranger leaned toward Walter.
“Think about Daniel.”
Walter’s expression changed instantly.
His son.
Emma did not know Daniel, but she knew the way Walter’s face looked.
It was the same way her mother looked when Emma’s breathing became strange after eating something unsafe.
Fear.
“You promised he would be left alone.”
“He will be if you stop asking questions.”
Walter looked toward the hallway.
Emma pulled back before he could see her.
She ran.
Not toward the staff lounge.
She had lost track of which staircase she had used.
She rushed through a corridor lined with portraits, rounded a corner, and nearly collided with a marble table before recognizing the hallway leading toward Grant Holloway’s study.
Then something shattered.
Emma froze.
A second later, she heard Claire scream.
“Mr. Holloway!”
Emma ran.
What she saw inside the study would stay with her for years.
Grant lay on the floor beside the desk.
The wineglass was broken.
Red liquid stained the cream rug.
Grant’s hands clawed desperately at his throat.
Claire was beside him.
The red medical pouch was open.
And in her hand was Emma’s EpiPen.
The last one.
For one terrible instant, Emma wanted to scream.
No.
That was hers.
The pharmacy had not filled the replacement.
Her mother had warned her all morning.
One wrong bite could kill her.
Then Emma looked at Grant’s face.
Gray.
His lips turning dark.
His eyes terrified.
Claire looked at her daughter.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
Then she drove the injector into Grant’s thigh.
Three seconds later, security officers burst through the doors.
Everything became noise.
One guard reached for Claire.
“What did you inject him with?”
“Epinephrine.”
Claire shoved his hand away.
“He’s having anaphylaxis.”
“It’s prescribed to my daughter.”
“Call 911.”
Grant’s body jerked.
Claire checked his pulse.
“Bring the emergency medical kit.”
The second security officer ran.
Walter appeared at the study entrance.
Emma saw him.
He saw the used EpiPen.
Then the wine.
His face collapsed.
“Oh, God.”
Claire looked up.
“Mr. Pike?”
Walter backed away.
“What happened?”
He did not answer.
Then Grant gasped.
A weak sound.
Air finally moving.
Claire turned back toward him.
The estate medical kit arrived.
A second auto-injector was inside.
Claire administered it according to the emergency dispatcher’s instructions.
When paramedics arrived, Grant was breathing, but only barely.
They placed him on oxygen.
Started an IV.
Moved him to the ambulance.
Claire climbed inside because she knew exactly when the first dose had been administered.
Emma followed in a security SUV.
She sat with her empty medical pouch in her lap.
For the entire drive, she kept opening it.
Closing it.
Opening it again.
As if her EpiPen might somehow return.
At Greenwich Hospital, Grant disappeared behind emergency doors.
Claire immediately turned to Emma.
“Any itching?”
“No.”
“Throat?”
“Fine.”
“Breathing?”
“Fine.”
“Dizzy?”
“No.”
Claire pulled her into a hug.
“I’m sorry.”
Emma frowned.
“For saving him?”
“For using yours.”
“He was dying.”
“I know.”
“So you had to.”
Claire nearly cried.
Eight years old.
And somehow Emma understood what half the adults in the mansion probably would not.
A decision could be terrifying and still be necessary.
Claire called the pharmacy.
The refill still had not arrived.
She called another.
Then another.
Finally, a pharmacy in Stamford confirmed they had a two-pack available and could transfer the prescription.
Grant’s security driver offered to retrieve it.
Claire almost refused.
Then looked at Emma.
Pride did not belong in emergency medicine.
“Please.”
The driver left.
Two hours later, a physician came into the waiting area.
“Mr. Holloway is stable.”
Claire’s knees almost gave way.
The doctor continued.
“Severe anaphylaxis.”
“Cause?”
“We’re investigating.”
Claire thought immediately of the wine.
“The glass.”
The physician looked at her.
“What?”
“The wineglass shattered before he collapsed.”
“Was he eating anything?”
“No.”
“Any known allergies?”
A voice behind Claire answered.
“Walnuts.”
She turned.
Adrian Holloway walked toward them.
Grant’s cousin.
Chief operating officer.
He wore a charcoal suit and the carefully controlled expression of a man accustomed to being the calmest person in every room.
“Grant has a severe walnut allergy.”
Claire stared.
“I’ve worked at the estate almost three years.”
“I never heard that.”
“Very few people know.”
Adrian’s gaze moved toward Emma.
Then the red medical pouch.
“You used your daughter’s medication.”
Claire’s spine stiffened.
“Yes.”
For one moment, Adrian simply looked at her.
Then:
“You saved him.”
His words sounded grateful.
His eyes did not.
Emma moved closer to Claire.
Adrian noticed.
“So this is Emma.”
Claire’s arm went protectively around her daughter.
“Yes.”
Emma stared at Adrian’s wrists.
Blue stones.
Her breathing changed.
Claire felt it.
“What?”
Emma whispered:
“Mom.”
“What?”
“His cuff links.”
Adrian glanced downward.
Claire frowned.
“What about them?”
Emma swallowed.
“The man in the pantry had blue ones.”
Adrian became completely still.
Then smiled.
“Lots of men wear blue cuff links.”
Emma shook her head.
“It looked like those.”
The security director, Mason Cole, approached from the opposite hallway.
“What pantry?”
Emma looked at him.
Claire hesitated.
This was no longer family gossip.
Someone had tried to kill a man.
“Tell him.”
Emma described what she heard.
Walter.
The stranger.
The tray.
The bottle.
The question about what had been put into the wine.
Daniel.
The blue cuff links.
Adrian’s expression tightened.
“A frightened child overheard part of a conversation.”
Claire turned toward him.
“She is not inventing this.”
“I didn’t say she was.”
“You implied it.”
Adrian stared.
Then Mason said:
“There is another problem.”
Grant’s cousin looked toward him.
“What?”
“The wine bottle is gone.”
Silence.
Claire’s stomach dropped.
“Gone?”
“Someone removed it from the study after the ambulance left.”
“Who had access?”
Mason’s face hardened.
“Too many people.”
“Security?”
“Yes.”
“Household staff?”
“Yes.”
“Family?”
“Yes.”
Adrian looked offended.
“Are you suggesting—”
“No.”
Mason cut him off.
“I’m telling you what happened.”
Then:
“Walter Pike is missing.”
Claire froze.
“What?”
“His car is still at the estate.”
“His phone was found in the butler’s pantry.”
“And twelve minutes of security footage were deleted from the household system.”
Adrian’s face changed.
“When?”
“Immediately after the ambulance departed.”
Emma clutched Claire’s hand.
The emergency-room doors opened.
Grant stood inside them despite the nurse behind him insisting he return to bed.
He looked pale.
Exhausted.
Angry.
Very alive.
“What happened?”
No one answered quickly enough.
Grant’s eyes moved from Mason to Adrian.
Then Claire.
Then Emma.
Finally Emma spoke.
“Somebody put something in your wine.”
Grant went still.
Mason lowered his voice.
“We believe the wine bottle was removed.”
“Walter is missing.”
“Security footage was deleted.”
Grant looked at Adrian.
Then Emma.
“Who did she see?”
Claire answered carefully.
“She did not clearly see a face.”
Good.
Important.
“She saw a man with blue cuff links.”
Adrian laughed bitterly.
“Grant, this is absurd.”
Emma flinched.
Grant’s voice changed.
“Do not talk about her like that.”
Adrian stared.
Claire stared too.
Grant continued.
“She is the reason I’m alive.”
Silence.
Adrian looked toward the elevator.
Then back.
“You nearly died.”
He said.
“Maybe you should recover before deciding who is loyal.”
Grant’s face hardened.
“Interesting choice of words.”
Adrian left.
Emma watched the elevator doors close.
Then whispered:
“It sounded like him.”
Claire crouched.
“You are allowed to be unsure.”
“I know.”
“Do not change what you remember because adults want certainty.”
Emma nodded.
Grant looked at Claire.
Something passed across his face.
Respect.
Fear.
Maybe both.
Then Mason’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression became grim.
“What?”
Grant demanded.
“They found blood.”
“Where?”
“Behind the greenhouse.”
“Whose?”
“We don’t know yet.”
A pause.
“And Walter’s onyx ring is broken beside it.”
Grant stopped breathing.
The missing household manager had not simply run.
May you like
Someone had taken him.
And now the same house where Grant had spent five years hiding from grief had become a crime scene full of people he could no longer trust.
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