Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN BEHIND THE WALLFor two years, Dominic Vale had visited his wife's grave every Sunday.
He had stood beneath the enormous oak tree at Rosehill Cemetery, placed white lilies against Celeste's headstone, and apologized for not being there when she died.
Now a woman was speaking from behind a locked door in the room where his son had been tortured.
And she had just asked him not to tell his mother she was alive.
Dominic grabbed the handle.
“Who are you?”
Silence.
“Answer me!”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Sir, let me open it.”
He examined the lock.
It was a heavy commercial deadbolt, recently installed.
Dominic moved aside.
Vincent worked quickly, but his hands weren't as steady as usual.
The first attempt failed.
From behind the door came a weak cough.
Dominic pressed his palm against the wood.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you hurt?”
Another cough.
“Please don't leave.”
Something in that voice made Dominic's stomach tighten.
It was familiar.
Not Celeste's voice.
But close enough to stir a memory he couldn't immediately identify.
Vincent finally broke the lock.
The door swung inward.
A narrow service passage extended into darkness.
Dominic switched on his phone's flashlight.
At the end of the passage, a woman sat on the concrete floor.
Her wrists were bound loosely with plastic restraints. Her dark hair hung in tangled strands around her face, and a bruise covered one cheek.
She was wearing a gray housekeeping uniform.
Dominic recognized her immediately.
“Rosa?”
Rosa Martinez had worked for the Vale family for nearly eleven years.
She had been Celeste's personal housekeeper.
She had taught Oliver to make pancakes.
She had been one of the few people who could make the boy laugh after his mother's death.
Three weeks earlier, Dominic had been informed that Rosa had returned to Mexico to care for a sick relative.
Now she was sitting behind his son's nursery wall.
“Mr. Vale,” she whispered.
Dominic dropped to his knees.
“Jesus Christ.”
He carefully cut the restraints with Vincent's utility knife.
Rosa recoiled when his hand approached her wrist.
Dominic stopped.
“I'm not going to hurt you.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I know.”
Vincent pulled out his phone.
“I'm calling an ambulance.”
Rosa grabbed his sleeve.
“No hospital connected to the family.”
Dominic looked at her.
“What happened?”
She began trembling.
“Your mother found out I was recording them.”
Dominic felt the blood drain from his face.
“Recording who?”
Rosa looked toward the nursery.
“Dr. Harrow.”
“Why?”
Her breathing became shallow.
“Because I heard Oliver crying through the walls. Every night they took him there, he screamed for his mother.”
Dominic stared at her.
“Every night?”
Rosa nodded.
“Sometimes three times a week. Sometimes more.”
“I was told he was attending therapy twice a week.”
“No, sir.”
She swallowed painfully.
“They were teaching him to say things.”
“What things?”
Rosa closed her eyes.
“That his mother abandoned him. That he was responsible for her death. That he wasn't allowed to speak about the boat.”
Dominic went completely still.
“The boat?”
Rosa looked at Vincent.
Then back at Dominic.
“Mrs. Celeste didn't die the way they told you.”
An ambulance arrived nine minutes later.
Dominic instructed Vincent to contact the police directly and preserve every recording, document, and security log in the east wing.
No one was permitted to remove anything.
No one was permitted to contact Beatrice.
Not yet.
He wanted Rosa safe before his mother learned she had been discovered.
The paramedics examined Rosa in the downstairs guest suite.
She was dehydrated, exhausted, and suffering from injuries that required hospital care.
Dominic arranged for Vincent to accompany her.
Before they left, Rosa caught Dominic's hand.
“There's something I need you to understand.”
“Tell me.”
“I didn't know where your wife was.”
Dominic frowned.
“What?”
“I knew something happened on the boat. I knew your mother lied. But I never saw Celeste afterward.”
Dominic's chest tightened.
“Then why did you say—”
“Because I found the letter.”
“What letter?”
Rosa looked toward the doorway.
“The one your wife wrote before she disappeared.”
Dominic stared at her.
“Where is it?”
Rosa whispered:
“Under the floor in Oliver's old bedroom.”
Claire was sitting beside Oliver when Dominic returned to the family room.
The little boy was eating apple slices from a small plate.
For a moment, the sight almost destroyed him.
Oliver looked like any ordinary four-year-old.
Small.
Sleepy.
Carefully arranging his apple slices into a crooked line.
Dominic approached slowly.
“Hey, buddy.”
Oliver looked up.
His eyes traveled immediately toward the staircase.
Dominic crouched beside the couch.
“We're not going upstairs.”
The boy studied him.
“Okay?”
Oliver nodded.
Dominic fought to keep his voice steady.
“I'm going to make sure nobody takes you into that room again.”
Oliver's fingers tightened around an apple slice.
Claire watched carefully.
The child whispered:
“Grandma says.”
Dominic swallowed.
“What does Grandma say?”
Oliver pressed his lips together.
Claire gently touched the couch beside him.
“You don't have to tell us.”
But Oliver looked at his father.
Then he whispered:
“Daddy go away.”
Dominic felt a sharp pain in his chest.
“Daddy's here.”
Oliver shook his head.
“Daddy always go.”
The words were devastating because they were true.
Dominic had missed birthdays.
Bedtimes.
Breakfasts.
He had missed the quiet evenings when Oliver needed someone to notice that fear came before anger.
Dominic sat on the carpet.
“I did go away a lot.”
Oliver watched him.
“I thought working was the best way to take care of you.”
He swallowed.
“I was wrong about some things.”
Claire looked away, giving them privacy.
Dominic opened his arms.
He didn't move closer.
He simply waited.
Oliver hesitated.
Then he climbed down from the couch and walked into his father's embrace.
Dominic held him gently.
“I am so sorry, buddy.”
Oliver buried his face against his neck.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then Oliver whispered:
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Mommy bad?”
Dominic closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Grandma says Mommy bad.”
“Grandma was wrong.”
Oliver pulled back.
His expression changed.
“Mommy come?”
Dominic couldn't answer.
He didn't know.
He couldn't give his son another promise that might turn into a lie.
So he kissed the boy's forehead.
“I don't know, sweetheart. But I'm going to find out what happened to her.”
Oliver considered this.
Then he pressed one tiny hand against Dominic's cheek.
“No horse.”
Dominic's throat tightened.
“No horse.”
Forty minutes later, Oliver was asleep on the family-room couch.
Claire remained nearby.
Dominic went to his son's former bedroom with Vincent's deputy, Marcus Reed.
The bedroom had been sealed shortly after Celeste's death.
Beatrice had claimed the room contained too many painful memories and insisted Oliver sleep in the guest suite near her own rooms.
Dominic had agreed.
He hated remembering how easily he had agreed.
The room smelled stale.
A blue quilt covered the small bed.
Celeste had painted a mural of clouds and airplanes across one wall.
Dominic remembered holding Oliver while she painted the final airplane.
She had gotten blue paint on his suit.
He had pretended to be furious.
She had laughed.
The memory nearly brought him to his knees.
“Where do we look?” Marcus asked.
“Under the floor.”
They began inspecting the boards.
Near the bed, Dominic noticed a narrow scratch running along the edge of a floor panel.
He inserted a screwdriver.
The board lifted.
Beneath it lay a small waterproof pouch.
Inside were three things.
A flash drive.
A silver necklace.
And a folded letter.
Dominic recognized the handwriting immediately.
Celeste.
His hands shook as he unfolded it.
Dominic,
If you're reading this, something has happened, and I couldn't reach you in time.
I need you to believe me, even if your mother tells you I'm confused.
I saw the documents. I know what she did with the trust. I know why she needs Oliver.
And I know what happened to your father.
Dominic stopped reading.
His father?
Arthur Vale had died of a heart attack sixteen years earlier.
Dominic looked down at the next paragraph.
Please don't let Beatrice take Oliver near the east-wing nursery.
She says children forget things if you repeat a different story often enough.
Oliver saw more than she realizes.
If I disappear, don't believe the first story they tell you.
The final line was underlined twice.
Find the blue boat.
Dominic stared at the words.
Then Marcus's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed immediately.
“Mr. Vale.”
Dominic looked up.
“Police are at the front gates.”
“Good.”
Marcus swallowed.
“They're not here because we called.”
“Then why?”
“Mrs. Vale called them.”
Dominic frowned.
“What did she report?”
Marcus looked toward the letter in Dominic's hand.
“She says Claire Bennett abducted your son and is holding him hostage downstairs.”
The police entered through the front doors four minutes later.
Beatrice stood beside them.
She wore a pearl necklace and the expression of a concerned grandmother.
“Thank God,” she said when she saw Dominic.
He descended the staircase holding Celeste's letter.
Beatrice noticed the paper immediately.
Her face changed.
Only for an instant.
But Dominic saw it.
“Where's Oliver?” she demanded.
“Safe.”
“Officer, my grandson has been taken by a woman who gained employment here under false pretenses.”
A uniformed officer stepped forward.
“Mr. Vale, we need to establish that the child is safe.”
“Of course.”
Dominic turned toward Marcus.
“Bring Oliver and Claire into the sitting room. Keep it calm.”
Then he faced the officer.
“I'm also reporting suspected child abuse, unlawful confinement, and possible evidence tampering on this property.”
Beatrice laughed sharply.
“Dominic, don't be ridiculous.”
He handed the officer Celeste's letter.
“And I want detectives to investigate the circumstances of my wife's death.”
The officer examined the letter.
Beatrice took one step backward.
Dominic noticed.
“Mother?”
She stopped.
“Tell me something.”
Her expression remained composed.
“Of course.”
He held up Celeste's silver necklace.
“Why did my wife hide this beneath our son's bedroom floor?”
Beatrice looked at the necklace.
Her lips parted.
Dominic stepped closer.
“Why did she write that you needed Oliver?”
Beatrice whispered:
“You have no idea what you're doing.”
“Then explain it.”
She looked past him toward the front doors.
Dominic followed her gaze.
A black sedan had just pulled into the driveway.
A tall gray-haired man stepped out.
Dr. Adrian Harrow.
The same man from the security footage.
He saw the police vehicles.
May you like
Then he saw Dominic.
And before anyone could stop him, he turned around and ran.
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