Chapter 5 - THE CHILD'S DRAWING
The rain lashed against the windows of Marcus’s armored SUV as they sped away from the hospital. In the backseat, Grace held a groggy Emma close to her chest. Oliver lay with his head on Marcus’s lap, breathing steadily but still unconscious.
"Where are we going?" Grace asked, her voice tight with fear. "If your brother knows we were at the hospital..."
"We're going to my private estate in the hills," Marcus replied, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror. "It’s a fortress. Security is off the grid. No one knows the codes except me. And Sarah."
The mention of the nanny's name felt like a knife in his ribs. Sarah had raised Oliver. She had been Elena’s best friend. How deep did the betrayal go?
They arrived at the iron gates of the estate. The heavy doors swung open, welcoming them into the dark, sprawling property. Marcus carried Oliver inside, laying him gently on the massive leather sofa in the sunken living room. Grace immediately went to work, finding blankets and pillows, acting with the calm efficiency of a mother who had weathered many storms.
"Lock the doors. All of them," Marcus instructed, pulling a heavy brass fireplace poker from the hearth. It wasn't a gun, but he needed something in his hands.
"Marcus," a voice echoed from the shadows of the mezzanine.
Marcus spun around, raising the iron poker.
Standing at the top of the sweeping mahogany staircase was David. He was leaning heavily on his silver-tipped cane, looking down at them with a mixture of pity and exhaustion.
"How did you get in here?" Marcus snarled, stepping between David and the sofa where Oliver slept.
"Sarah gave me the codes," David said casually, beginning his slow, painful descent down the stairs. "Before she boarded her flight. She’s very loyal, Sarah. Once you pay off her gambling debts, anyway."
"You poisoned my son," Marcus said, his voice shaking with a rage he could barely contain. "You killed my wife, and tonight you tried to kill my boy."
David stopped on the bottom step. He looked genuinely confused. "Poisoned Oliver? Marcus, what are you talking about?"
"The blue vial!" Emma suddenly shouted from behind the sofa. She stepped out, her little fists clenched. "I saw you drop it by the punch bowl! The stinky medicine!"
David looked at the little girl, then back at Marcus. He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "The blue vial. Ah. I didn't drop that in the punch, Marcus. I dropped it on the floor because I knocked it out of Natalie’s hand."
Marcus froze. "What?"
"Natalie is a psychopath," David said, limping toward the study doors. "We wanted to ruin your reputation tonight. We wanted the board to force you out. But Natalie went off-script. She wanted Oliver dead. She blames you for her sister’s suicide, Marcus. Surely you remember?"
Marcus felt the floor tilt. Natalie’s sister. A rival developer Marcus had aggressively crushed in a bidding war a decade ago. She had lost everything and taken her own life.
"I knocked the poison away from her," David continued softly. "I’m a thief, Marcus. I’m a liar. I even helped Elena cover up the stolen deeds. But I am not a child killer. I came here to tell you the truth."
David pushed open the heavy oak doors to Marcus's private study.
"But while I was waiting for you," David said, pointing his cane toward Marcus’s massive mahogany desk. "I found something very interesting."
Marcus slowly walked into the study. Sitting in the center of his immaculate desk was a piece of paper. It was a child’s drawing. Crayon on construction paper. It depicted a tall building, a smiling man with a beard, and a little girl holding a balloon.
Marcus recognized it immediately. He had found it in a dusty archive box belonging to the original architect of the flagship hotel, Arthur Hayes. He had kept it because it reminded him of Oliver’s innocence.
"Look at the back, Marcus," David whispered.
Marcus flipped the drawing over.
Written in faded blue ink, in Arthur Hayes’s handwriting, was a note:To my dearest Grace, and our unborn Emma. I have hidden the original, un-altered land deeds inside the cornerstone of the hotel lobby. If anything happens to me, break the stone.
Marcus looked up. Grace was standing in the doorway, staring at the drawing. Tears were streaming down her face.
"Arthur always told me he left us a safety net," she whispered.
Before Marcus could speak, the distinct sound of police sirens cut through the rain. Flashing red and blue lights illuminated the frosted glass of the study windows.
"I didn't call them," David said, his eyes widening in panic.
The front doors shattered open.
"NYPD!" a voice roared. "Nobody move!"
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And stepping through the broken doors, flanked by armed detectives, was Natalie. She was soaking wet, holding her wrist as if she’d been injured.
"That’s her," Natalie sobbed, pointing a shaking finger directly at Grace. "That’s the cleaner. She’s the one who poisoned the boy to steal the company!"
