Chapter 4 - The Man Dominic Trusted With His Fortune Was Poisoning His Family From Inside—And Lily Was the First Person to NoticeAdrian looked innocent.
That was the problem.
He was forty-five.
Always polite.
Always dressed perfectly.
He had known Dominic for years.
He had attended weddings.
Funerals.
Business meetings.
Family dinners.
Ethan called him Uncle Adrian.
That alone made the situation unbearable.
We couldn't confront him without evidence.
So Dominic watched him.
I watched too.
Nothing.
Adrian came to work.
Reviewed documents.
Talked to security.
Visited the kitchen.
Spoke with Ethan.
Nothing suspicious.
Until Lily noticed something.
She tugged my sleeve.
“Mommy.”
“Yes?”
“Uncle Adrian is bad.”
I froze.
“Why?”
“He doesn't smile with his eyes.”
I looked at her.
Children noticed everything.
“Did he do something?”
“He touched Ethan's cup.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
I told Dominic.
We checked the cup.
Nothing.
Then the cameras.
Adrian had entered the kitchen.
He had touched Ethan's cup.
But he had not put anything inside.
He had only moved it.
Why?
We followed the footage.
He moved the cup because a camera had a blind spot.
A blind spot he knew about.
That was enough.
Dominic confronted him privately.
Adrian denied everything.
Then he smiled.
“You're paranoid.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“My son was almost poisoned.”
“Terrible.”
“You were in the kitchen.”
“I am allowed in the kitchen.”
“You touched his cup.”
“I moved it.”
“Why?”
Adrian shrugged.
“I don't remember.”
Dominic almost lost control.
I stepped in.
“Then let's ask your staff.”
Adrian looked at me.
His smile disappeared.
“You shouldn't be involved.”
I answered,
“I already am.”
He stared.
Then left.
Later that night, one of our guards disappeared.
He was found unconscious in his car.
A message was carved into the windshield.
STOP DIGGING.
Dominic looked at me.
“We're getting close.”
“Or they're getting desperate.”
He nodded.
The next morning, Ethan disappeared for fourteen minutes.
Only fourteen.
But fourteen minutes was enough.
Security footage showed Adrian entering the school room.
Ethan followed willingly.
When Dominic found him, Ethan was sitting at a table.
Adrian claimed they were discussing school.
But Ethan refused to speak.
Later, he drew a picture.
A man.
A silver box.
A black door.
And a red circle.
I looked at it.
“Who is that?”
Ethan pointed at Adrian.
My heart stopped.
Dominic turned.
Adrian was gone.
Security searched.
No one found him.
Then we discovered his private office.
Inside was a collection of old photographs.
Lily.
Ethan.
Me.
My husband.
Dominic.
Every person connected to us.
He had been watching everyone.
For years.
On the desk was a file marked:
PROJECT FAMILY.
Inside were schedules.
Medical information.
Security codes.
Financial records.
And a list of possible targets.
Lily.
Ethan.
Dominic.
Me.
I felt sick.
“Why me?”
Dominic looked at the page.
“You are listed as high priority.”
“Why?”
“Because you possess the key.”
The pendant.
The key opened access to my husband's evidence.
The evidence could destroy Adrian.
But there was more.
A second file.
MARA.
Dominic froze.
“Who is Mara?”
“I don't know.”
He opened it.
A photograph.
A newborn baby.
A woman.
And a hospital bracelet.
The baby's name was Mara.
Dominic looked at me.
“Mara was my father's second child.”
I stared.
“What?”
“My father had a daughter nobody knew about.”
“Where is she?”
He shook his head.
“Dead.”
“Are you sure?”
His expression hardened.
“No.”
The pattern was repeating.
People who were supposedly dead.
Children who disappeared.
Records that vanished.
Trusts that transferred.
Everything connected.
Then Lily walked into the room.
She looked at the photograph.
“That's the lady.”
“What lady?”
“The one who visits Ethan.”
My blood chilled.
“What?”
“She comes at night.”
Dominic stared.
“Who?”
“Mommy with the blonde hair.”
I frowned.
“My daughter sees a woman at night.”
Dominic's expression changed.
“Isabella.”
His late wife.
But Isabella was supposed to be dead.
Again, another ghost.
Another impossible secret.
We searched the mansion.
Nothing.
Until we found a hidden passage behind the library.
It led to an old bedroom.
Inside was a photograph of Isabella.
Alive.
Taken six months after her supposed death.
Dominic collapsed into a chair.
His breathing changed.
“She survived.”
I touched his shoulder.
“Then where is she?”
He looked at me.
“I think she has been watching us.”
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And on the wall, someone had written:
SHE IS COMING HOME.
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