Chapter 5: Whispers in the Library
"Grant," I said, keeping my back to the heavy oak door as I locked it from the inside. "Get water. And bring the first aid kit from the pantry."
Grant nodded, his face pale, his hands shaking slightly as he set down his end of the burden. He shot one last, fearful look at the woman on the settee before slipping out through the connecting passage to the kitchens.
I turned back to the room. The little girl had climbed onto the edge of the settee, her small hand resting gently on the woman's arm. Neither of them spoke. The silence between them was heavy with an intimacy forged in shared trauma. The woman slowly raised her head, her brown hair falling away from her face to reveal a faint bruise blooming along her jawline—the signature of someone who thought they could hide behind locked doors and high brick walls.
"He's coming," she whispered, her voice a dry rasp that sounded like sandpaper sliding over wood. "Heath knows the car was opened."
I pulled a leather armchair closer to the settee and sat down, resting my elbows on my knees, forcing my breathing to remain slow and measured. The contrast between the public gala preparations beginning outside—the faint murmur of string quartets tuning up through the ventilation vents—and the raw, quiet fear in this room was absolute.
"Who is Heath to you?" I asked, keeping my tone as gentle as possible, though every second ticked away toward the moment the front gates would open to the public.
She looked at me, her brown eyes holding a depth of warning that chilled me more than the cold air outside. "He's not just a board member, Ethan. He's the man who built this foundation on top of everything my family tried to bury."
Before she could elaborate, a sharp, rhythmic tapping echoed against the heavy oak study door. Three measured knocks. Then Morris’s voice, muffled by the thick wood, calling in a flat, unyielding tone:
May you like
"Mr. Vance. The first cars are coming up the drive. You need to come out now."
I looked at the woman, then down at the little girl, who squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face into the folds of the woman's cream dress. The gala was starting. The trap had closed, and we were all standing on the inside.
