Chapter 6 - the voice inside the walls
Isabella returned to Moretti Manor just before sunset.
Vincent met her at the entrance.
She could see immediately that something had changed.
"Where's Mia?"
"Missing."
"Lily?"
"Missing."
Isabella's face went pale.
Vincent handed her photographs of room 27.
She studied the forged documents.
"This isn't amateur work."
"I know."
"Whoever made these had internal access."
"I know."
She looked at him.
"Do you?"
He ignored the accusation.
"We need to find them."
"You should call the police."
"I did."
That surprised her.
Vincent Moretti preferred private solutions.
"The local chief is sending detectives."
"Adrian knows?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"Also missing."
Isabella looked toward the staircase.
"This is worse than I thought."
They entered room 27 together.
Isabella examined the scanner, printer, paper stock, ink cartridges.
She opened drawers.
One contained old photographs.
Most showed Moretti Manor decades earlier.
Vincent's father.
His mother.
Vincent as a child.
One photograph showed a woman Isabella recognized.
Eleanor Moretti.
Vincent's mother.
She had left for Europe two months earlier and was supposedly staying at the family's villa near Lake Como.
Isabella picked up the photograph.
"When was this taken?"
Vincent looked.
"About fifteen years ago."
A younger Adrian stood behind the family.
He had not yet begun working for Vincent.
But he was already there.
"How long have you known him?"
"Since college."
Isabella pointed at the picture.
"This is before college."
Vincent frowned.
He took it.
The date had been written on the back.
Adrian would have been seventeen.
Vincent sixteen.
"I don't remember him."
"But he knew your family."
Vincent's phone rang.
The security office.
A technician had restored part of the disabled camera system.
They went upstairs.
The west corridor camera had been manually erased, but the audio system from the old intercom network still held residual files.
The technician played one.
Static.
Footsteps.
Then Mia's voice.
"Give me the key."
Adrian answered.
"You're making this harder."
Mia said, "She doesn't know what you've done."
A woman's voice responded.
"She knows enough."
Vincent froze.
Isabella looked at him.
The recording was distorted.
The woman's voice was difficult to identify.
Adrian said something inaudible.
Then Mia again.
"If Vincent finds out, he'll never forgive you."
The woman laughed softly.
"He always does."
The audio ended.
Isabella turned toward Vincent.
"Do you recognize her?"
He didn't answer.
Because something about the voice felt familiar.
Not enough.
But close.
Detectives arrived an hour later.
They searched the grounds.
Mia's car was found untouched.
Lily's shoes remained near the kitchen.
No sign either had exited through the gates.
That meant they were probably still on the property.
The dogs searched the west wing.
Then the old servant tunnels.
Nothing.
At midnight, Isabella returned to Lily's room.
She sat on the floor and examined the child's drawings.
Horses.
Flowers.
The mansion.
Vincent standing under a huge storm cloud.
Then she noticed one picture different from the others.
A staircase.
A woman in a black dress.
A man beside a door.
And a small square drawn beneath the stairs.
Isabella carried it to Vincent.
"What is that?"
He studied it.
"The back staircase."
"What's beneath it?"
"Storage."
They went downstairs.
A narrow cabinet stood beneath the service steps.
Inside were cleaning supplies.
Vincent removed them.
Isabella tapped the back wall.
Hollow.
Vincent pulled away a panel.
Behind it sat a small digital recorder.
Mia had hidden it.
Isabella pressed play.
Mia's voice filled the cramped space.
"If anyone finds this, Adrian has been meeting with someone inside the cellar corridor for at least two weeks."
A pause.
"I don't know who she is."
Another pause.
"But tonight I heard them arguing about Isabella."
Mia inhaled shakily.
"They said the transfer isn't enough."
Vincent's eyes hardened.
"They need Vincent to believe Isabella betrayed him before Sunday night."
Isabella looked at Vincent.
Sunday night was less than forty-eight hours away.
Mia continued.
"I heard one other thing."
Static crackled.
Then her voice returned.
"They said after Sunday, Vincent won't control the estate anymore."
The recording stopped.
Vincent stared at the device.
Isabella whispered, "What happens Sunday?"
May you like
Vincent knew.
His fortieth birthday.
