Chapter 2 - the key with the swallow)
Ethan was taken upstairs at 8:17 that evening.
He knew the time because he watched the clock beside the elevator while two security guards stood on either side of his chair.
Charles remained downstairs to manage the guests.
Manage.
That was the word Charles used for everything.
He managed the company.
He managed the foundation.
He managed the press.
He managed Ethan.
The guards brought him to his bedroom.
A nurse named Margaret was waiting.
She had worked at the Vale estate for two years.
She wore a calm expression and carried the silver medication tray.
“Quite an evening,” she said.
Ethan stared at the pills.
Blue.
White.
Yellow.
The blue one sat in the center.
Nia’s whisper repeated in his head.
Don’t take the blue pills tonight.
Margaret held out the glass of water.
“Your father said you seemed agitated.”
“What is the blue pill?”
She blinked.
“You know what it is.”
“No, I know what I’ve been told it is.”
Margaret’s smile disappeared.
“It helps with muscle spasms.”
“What’s it called?”
She hesitated.
That was enough.
Ethan knocked the tray away.
Pills scattered across the carpet.
Margaret stepped back.
“Ethan.”
“What is it called?”
“I’ll get your father.”
“No.”
But she was already leaving.
Ethan waited until the door shut.
Then he drove toward his desk.
His hands were shaking.
He opened his laptop.
Charles had parental controls on almost everything, but Ethan knew how to access a browser through the game launcher.
He searched the markings printed on one of the blue tablets he found beneath his desk.
The first results made no sense.
The second made his heart race.
The pill was not primarily prescribed for muscle spasms.
It was a powerful sedative commonly used for severe anxiety and certain neurological conditions.
Side effects included muscle weakness, poor coordination, dizziness, and fatigue.
Ethan stared at the screen.
Then he searched the yellow pill.
Another sedating medication.
He searched the white one.
Pain control.
Nothing unusual alone.
Together, however, they could leave someone weak for hours.
He touched his thigh.
Could medicine really make him believe he could not walk?
No.
That seemed impossible.
His doctors had scans.
Tests.
Reports.
His father had flown specialists from three countries to examine him.
Unless those doctors had never seen the real information.
Ethan looked at the door.
Then he remembered the brass key.
Charles had taken it.
But Nia had pointed toward the library.
The key must unlock something there.
The library had belonged to Amelia.
After her death, Charles closed it.
Ethan had not entered in years.
He drove toward his bedroom door.
Locked.
He stared at the handle.
His father had locked him inside.
Ethan’s fear became anger.
He backed the wheelchair toward the desk.
Then he rammed the door.
Once.
Twice.
On the third impact, the old brass latch split.
The door flew open.
Ethan drove into the hallway.
The western wing was empty.
Everyone was downstairs.
He moved quietly past family portraits, antique tables, and the staircase overlooking the ballroom.
Music still played below.
Nobody noticed him.
He reached Amelia’s library.
The door was unlocked.
Dust floated in the darkness.
He switched on a lamp.
Nothing had changed.
Books covered the walls.
A cream-colored chair sat beside the fireplace.
Amelia’s old writing desk remained beneath the window.
Ethan rolled closer.
He remembered sitting on her lap there.
He remembered drawing airplanes while she answered letters.
He remembered her perfume.
For a moment, grief nearly overwhelmed him.
Then he noticed scratches on the floor.
The bookcase beside the fireplace had been moved recently.
Ethan positioned his wheelchair beside it and pushed.
Nothing.
He searched the shelves.
One book stood slightly farther out than the others.
A leather-bound collection of poetry.
His mother’s favorite.
He pulled it.
A mechanical click sounded behind the wall.
The bookcase opened three inches.
Ethan’s mouth went dry.
He pushed harder.
Behind it was a narrow door.
And behind the door was the green bedroom.
Exactly as Nia had described.
The bed was stripped.
The curtains were gone.
But the walls were pale green.
On the far side of the room sat a small wooden cabinet.
There was a keyhole in the center.
A tiny swallow had been carved above it.
Ethan’s pulse thundered.
The brass key fit that cabinet.
Charles had it.
Ethan leaned closer.
Then he saw something beneath the cabinet.
A piece of paper.
He reached down.
His fingers barely touched it.
He lowered himself farther.
His leg slid from the wheelchair footrest.
His bare foot struck the floor.
And his knee jerked.
Ethan froze.
He stared at his leg.
Slowly, carefully, he tried to move his toes.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
His big toe moved.
Not much.
Barely half an inch.
But it moved.
Ethan began crying.
Not because he was happy.
Because someone had lied.
A floorboard creaked behind him.
Ethan turned.
Nia stood in the doorway.
Her bare feet were dirty.
Her dress was torn farther along one side.
“How did you get up here?”
“Kitchen stairs.”
“Security is looking for you.”
“I know.”
Ethan stared at her.
“Who are you?”
“Nia Brooks.”
“How do you know my mother?”
She looked toward the hidden cabinet.
“Open that, and you’ll know why I came.”
“My father has the key.”
Nia reached into her hair.
She pulled out a thin silver object.
A second key.
Ethan stared.
May you like
She gave the smallest smile.
“Your mother knew he’d take the first one.”
