Chapter 3 - The Broken Watch
The silence in the bedroom was deafening.
I stared at Emma, my mind racing to process the twelve-year-old’s words.
Daniel?
Daniel Westwood, the grieving son. The man who had just looked at his fiancée with utter disgust. The man who had hired me, who always made sure Emma ate her vegetables, who asked me about my day with genuine kindness.
“Emma, are you sure?” I whispered, my hands gripping her small shoulders. “Are you absolutely certain it was your dad?”
She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I woke up to get water. Grandpa was in his study. Dad brought him the tray. He poured the tea. I saw him slip a little vial back into his pocket.”
My stomach turned to ice.
If Daniel was the one who poisoned Charles, then everything downstairs—his shock, his anger at Vivian—was a performance. A calculated, brilliant performance.
But why?
I looked down at the receipt from the private investigator in my hand.
Investigation into the death of Sarah Westwood.
Did Charles find out something about how Emma’s mother really died? Did Daniel kill his own father to stop him from exposing the truth?
“Emma, listen to me,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You cannot tell anyone what you just told me. Not the police. Not Arthur. And especially not your dad. Do you understand?”
She sniffled and nodded, burying her face in the blue teddy bear.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway.
The bedroom door creaked open.
Daniel stood in the doorway. He had taken off his suit jacket, and his tie was loosened. He looked exhausted, broken, and—if Emma was telling the truth—incredibly dangerous.
“Lily,” Daniel said softly. His eyes moved to his daughter. “How is she?”
I quickly crumpled the receipt into my palm, hiding it. I forced a gentle smile. “She’s just tired, Mr. Westwood. It’s been a traumatic evening.”
Daniel walked into the room. He knelt beside us on the thick carpet. He reached out and stroked Emma’s hair.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Daniel murmured. “I know things are scary right now. But Vivian is gone. She’s not coming back to this house.”
Emma flinched slightly at his touch, but she nodded, keeping her eyes down.
Daniel sighed, a heavy, rattling sound. He looked at me, his eyes dark with grief. “Can I speak with you in the hall for a moment, Lily?”
My heart hammered. “Of course.”
I squeezed Emma’s hand, gave her a reassuring look, and followed Daniel out into the dimly lit corridor. He closed the door behind us.
We stood in the silence of the massive house. Most of the guests had left.
“I want to thank you,” Daniel said, his voice thick with emotion. “If you hadn’t found that policy in the Bible… she might have gotten away with it.”
“I just did what I thought was right,” I said carefully, watching his face for any sign of deception.
Daniel reached into his pocket. My breath caught in my throat. I remembered Emma’s words: I saw him slip a little vial back into his pocket.
But Daniel didn’t pull out a vial.
He pulled out an old, gold pocket watch. The glass face was cracked, and the hands were frozen at exactly 11:42.
“This was my father’s,” Daniel said, running his thumb over the engraved gold. “It stopped the exact minute he died. The paramedics gave it to me at the hospital.”
He held it out to me.
“I want you to have it,” he said.
I took a step back. “Mr. Westwood, I can’t accept that. It’s a family heirloom.”
“Lily, please,” Daniel insisted, his eyes desperate. “Vivian was destroying this family. She hated Emma. She isolated my father. I was blind. You protected my daughter’s inheritance today. Take it. As a token of my gratitude.”
Reluctantly, I reached out and took the cold, heavy gold watch.
As my fingers brushed his, I felt a strange click beneath the metal casing.
The back of the pocket watch sprang open.
Daniel jumped, startled. “I didn't know it did that.”
We both looked down.
The back of the watch was hollowed out. Tucked inside was a tightly folded photograph.
My fingers trembled as I pulled the picture free and unfolded it.
It was a surveillance photo. Time-stamped one month ago.
It showed a man and a woman sitting in a dark restaurant booth, leaning in close, holding hands.
The woman was Vivian Cross.
The man was Arthur Kane.
Daniel stumbled backward, hitting the wall. “Arthur?” he choked out. “Arthur and Vivian?”
My mind spun. The attorney and the fiancée.
If they were working together, then Arthur’s entire performance downstairs—exposing Vivian, showing me the key, defending me—was a lie.
But if Arthur and Vivian were lovers conspiring to steal the fifty million… why did Arthur expose her?
“Answer one, open two,” I whispered to myself, remembering an old puzzle game my mother used to play with me.
Suddenly, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket.
I pulled it out. It was an unknown number.
I answered it. “Hello?”
A man’s voice, raspy and wet with pain, came through the speaker.
“Lily Harper?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name is Thomas. I’m the groundskeeper… at the Westwood estate.”
I remembered the voice. He was the man who had interrupted Vivian when she was trying to destroy the policy in the garden.
“Where are you?” I asked, panic rising.
“I’m bleeding,” Thomas gasped. “Arthur found out I saw them. He’s trying to clean house. Lily, you have to listen to me. Emma’s father didn't kill Charles.”
I glanced up at Daniel, who was still staring at the photo in horror.
“What do you mean?” I demanded into the phone.
Thomas let out a ragged cough. “The tea… Daniel poured the tea, but he didn’t poison it. He put liquid melatonin in it to help Charles sleep.”
Tears burned my eyes. Daniel was innocent.
“Who poisoned him, Thomas?” I pleaded.
“It wasn't Arthur, and it wasn't Vivian,” Thomas whispered, his voice fading. “It was…”
A loud crash echoed through the phone line. A scuffle. A heavy thud.
“Thomas?!” I yelled.
Then, a new voice came on the line. A woman’s voice. Calm. Aristocratic. And chillingly familiar.
“Hello, Lily.”
It was Vivian.
“Vivian, what did you do to him?” I demanded.
“Oh, Thomas will be fine,” Vivian purred, though police sirens wailed in the background of her end of the call. “But you won't be. Look out the window, sweetheart.”
I ran to the hallway window and looked down at the dark estate grounds.
Standing by the front gates, looking up at me, was Vivian.
But Vivian had been arrested. I watched the police take her away twenty minutes ago.
“How are you here?” I breathed.
“Money buys many things, Lily,” Vivian said softly over the phone. “Including fake police officers.”
I dropped the phone.
May you like
The police who took Vivian weren’t real.
And they were currently standing outside the front doors of the mansion.
