Chapter 6 - The Secret in the Nursery Wall
That night, while the estate slept under heavy guard, Emma returned to the nursery with a small set of wooden carving tools she had asked her sister Clare to bring from her Astoria craft shop.
She was not looking for poison. She was looking for proof.
Isabella had spent the final two months of her pregnancy confined to bed rest in the very suite Emma now occupied. Knowing how pregnant women often sought comfort in small, personal rituals, Emma began examining the fixed furniture in the room.
She sat on the floor beside the grand walnut changing table—an antique piece that had been moved into the nursery from the mansion’s master study three months earlier.
Emma ran her sensitive, highly trained fingers along the underside of the walnut drawers.
Click.
Her fingertips caught a tiny, almost invisible seam in the back panel of the bottom drawer. It was a traditional secret latch—the kind used by nineteenth-century furniture makers to hide valuables.
Emma pulled her thin brass carving pick from her kit and gently pressed the hidden catch.
With a soft wooden slide, a narrow panel popped open.
Inside lay a small, green leather-bound journal and a child’s bright yellow crayon sketch, folded twice.
Emma’s heart hammered against her ribs. She pulled the items out and unfolded the sketch first.
It was a crude, hand-drawn map of the estate’s basement medical clinic, drawn in bright yellow and blue crayon—likely drawn by one of Gabriel’s young nephews who often visited the house. But across the back of the drawing, written in elegant, hurried feminine handwriting, were the words Isabella had penned weeks before her death:
Gabe—if something happens to me during labor, do not trust the medicine. Harrison is taking payments from the Zurich account. Marcus signed the authorization. They are draining the port logistics funds into the shell company before the legal transition is finalized. They know you will go mad with grief if I die. They want you broken so Marcus can take control of the family board. Forgive me for not speaking sooner—I was afraid for the babies.
Emma gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.
She opened the green leather journal. Page after page detailed Isabella’s growing suspicion during her final trimester. She had noticed that the custom daily prenatal vitamins provided by Dr. Harrison made her dizzy and caused small, unexplainable bruises on her arms—classic signs of systemic blood-thinning toxicity. She had saved two of the capsule samples, taping them inside the back cover of the journal.
"Isabella..." Emma whispered, tears falling onto the leather cover. "You knew."
Footsteps sounded softly in the hallway outside.
Emma moved with lightning speed. She slid the journal and the crayon map into her apron pocket, pushed the hidden panel shut, and stood up just as the heavy oak door turned.
Uncle Marcus stepped into the room.
He was wearing his black overcoat, carrying a small leather medical bag. His face was shadow-draped, his blue eyes cold as winter ice.
"Miss Brooks," Marcus said softly, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. "You are awake late."
"Anthony was restless," Emma lied smoothly, stepping between Marcus and the incubators where the babies slept. "What are you doing here at three in the morning, Mr. Moretti?"
Marcus raised the leather bag slightly. "Dr. Harrison requested that I retrieve the remaining infant vitamin samples for independent testing. We must be thorough, after all."
He took two steps toward her. His eyes dropped to her apron pocket, where the corner of the bright yellow crayon drawing was sticking out by half an inch.
May you like
Marcus stopped. His smooth, aristocratic smile slowly melted away into a terrifying, murderous glare.
"You have been digging where you don't belong, little craft girl," Marcus whispered.
