Chapter 8 - The House With No Cameras
Marcus located Lily that evening.
She had been placed in a temporary foster residence outside Manhattan.
Nathan demanded visitation.
It was denied.
Grace demanded visitation.
Also denied.
The reason was chilling.
Investigators claimed Grace posed a flight risk.
Nathan’s independent DNA results were expected within forty-eight hours.
Richard Vale apparently intended to finish the custody battle before those results arrived.
Grace suddenly remembered something.
“The airport picture.”
Nathan looked at her.
“What about it?”
“The suitcase.”
Grace enlarged the image on her phone.
“It isn’t mine.”
Marcus frowned.
“That helps, but not much.”
Grace pointed.
“There’s a baggage ribbon on the handle.”
Nathan zoomed in.
BLUE HARBOR CHARITY AUCTION.
He recognized the logo.
Victoria’s charity.
The event had taken place three months earlier.
Nathan called his security chief, Daniel Ross.
“Find everyone who received luggage at the Blue Harbor auction.”
Daniel returned with records twenty minutes later.
Only twelve guests had received that model.
One was Victoria Vale.
Nathan smiled without humor.
“They used her suitcase when they staged the photograph.”
Marcus leaned closer.
“If we can obtain the original airport surveillance, we can prove the image was manipulated.”
Nathan contacted airport security through legal channels.
The response came quickly.
No footage existed.
The system had supposedly suffered a data corruption.
Marcus stared at the email.
“Convenient.”
Grace looked toward Nathan.
“Someone is always one step ahead.”
Nathan knew she was right.
He thought about the disabled cameras in his mansion.
Only five people had administrative access.
Nathan.
Daniel.
The estate systems manager.
Victoria.
And Nathan’s uncle, William Cole.
Nathan had almost forgotten William still possessed legacy access from the years he managed the estate for Nathan’s father.
Nathan called him.
No answer.
They drove to William’s townhouse.
The front door was unlocked.
Inside, the lights were off.
Nathan moved through the hallway.
“Uncle William?”
No response.
In the study, they found a laptop still running.
On the screen was an email draft addressed to Nathan.
I should have told you years ago.
Your father didn’t die naturally.
Nathan felt his pulse stop.
Before he could read further, the laptop screen went black.
Every light in the townhouse died.
Grace whispered.
“Nathan.”
A sound came from upstairs.
Footsteps.
Slow.
May you like
Deliberate.
Someone else was inside the house.
