Chapter 3: Arthur’s Silent Visit
The hallway clock had chimed three in the morning when the deadbolt finally turned with a soft, oiled click. I pulled my hands away from the door, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I expected the security guards, or perhaps Victoria herself, coming to finish what she started on the patio. Instead, the heavy oak door creaked open an inch, and the dim amber light of the corridor revealed Arthur. He was still wearing the same grey collared shirt from earlier in the evening, though the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms tight with tension. He looked exhausted, the skin beneath his eyes bruised dark with fatigue.
He didn't step inside; instead, he stood in the doorway, blocking the draft, holding a thick wool blanket and a small paper cup of water. He looked down at me with an expression that was neither accusatory nor comforting—just hollow and searching. “Drink this,” he murmured, his voice raspy and low, holding out the cup. I took it with trembling fingers, the cool water sliding down my parched throat. I hadn't realized how dry I was until that moment. He didn't offer immediate apologies, but his eyes held mine with a heavy, troubled gravity that felt entirely different from the manic certainty Victoria had projected on the lawn.
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“She’s asleep,” Arthur whispered, glancing back over his shoulder toward the grand staircase as if worried Victoria might appear out of the shadows. “The pediatrician came and checked the baby. He’s fine, Elena. Just shaken up. Sleeping normally now.” I pulled the wool blanket around my shivering shoulders, keeping my distance from him against the back wall. “I didn't push him, Mr. Sterling,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, steadying myself against the surge of emotion. “I heard him crying before the splash. I was walking past the East Wing doors. I saw him go under.” Arthur winced slightly at my words, pressing his palms flat against the wooden doorframe.
“Victoria was inside with me,” Arthur said, speaking almost to himself, his voice laced with a sudden, bitter realization. “We were talking to the senator. She didn't go out to the terrace until... until she heard you scream.” He paused, letting the heavy silence settle between us. That was the flaw in her story. Victoria had claimed she saw me push the baby in, but she had been inside the ballroom until my scream pierced the glass doors. Arthur looked down at the floor, his jaw tight. He reached into his pocket and slid a small, black prepaid burner phone across the dusty floorboards toward my feet. “The security logs for the pool area between ten and midnight are gone,” he said softly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Someone wiped the server. Be careful who you talk to when you leave here tomorrow morning.”
