Chapter 3 - MIDNIGHT SECRETS
We moved the boys to the master suite in the east wing under the guise of a "mold inspection." Nathan's men, towering figures in dark suits who moved with frightening efficiency, stood guard outside the reinforced oak doors.
It was past midnight when I finally slipped out of the master suite. The mansion was suffocatingly quiet. Nathan had ordered a complete blackout on information. Dr. Reeves had left the estate just before the lockdown, and Nathan’s men were currently hunting him down in the city.
I needed proof. A mafia boss didn't act on the hunch of a newly hired nanny, even if his instincts told him I was right. I needed physical evidence before the poison evaporated.
Armed with a small flashlight, I navigated the labyrinthine hallways toward the basement, where the isolated HVAC unit for the west wing was located. The estate engineer, a nervous man named Higgins, had been detained, leaving the maintenance sector abandoned.
I bypassed the heavy steel door by picking the standard pin-tumbler lock—a skill I had acquired during my difficult teenage years in the foster system before I turned my life around. The door clicked open, revealing a cavernous room filled with humming machinery, pipes, and massive aluminum ducts.
I followed the schematics pasted on the wall until I found the unit labeled "WEST WING - RESIDENTIAL."
My flashlight beam danced across the metal casing. At first glance, everything looked normal. But as I inspected the intake valve, I noticed a secondary filtration bypass. Someone had jury-rigged a high-pressure aerosol canister into the main airflow line. It was a sophisticated setup, complete with a digital timer set to release micro-bursts of the sweet-smelling vapor between 11:00 PM and 4:00 AM, when the boys were deeply asleep.
My hands trembled slightly as I took out a sterile glass vial from my pocket—something I always carried in my emergency medical kit. I carefully unhooked the canister, wincing as a tiny hiss of pressurized gas escaped. I captured the condensation from the nozzle into the vial and sealed it tight.
"What do you think you're doing down here?"
The voice cracked like a whip in the dark. I spun around, dropping my flashlight. It rolled across the concrete floor, illuminating the sharp, sensible shoes of Mrs. Bennett, the house manager.
She stood in the doorway, her face cast in eerie shadows. In her hand, she held a suppressed pistol, aimed directly at my chest.
"Mrs. Bennett," I breathed, my mind racing. "You're behind this."
"Dr. Reeves and I had a perfect arrangement," she said coldly, stepping into the room. "The Maroni family pays exceptionally well for the slow, untraceable demise of Nathan Coleman's legacy. A grieving boss is a weak boss. But then you showed up. A nosy, overly observant nanny."
"They're children," I said, my voice thick with disgust. "How could you watch them suffer?"
"In this world, Miss Dawson, children are just leverage." She raised the gun. "It's a shame you won't be staying for the rest of your shift."
Before she could pull the trigger, a massive shadow detached itself from the darkness behind her. Nathan Coleman materialized like a ghost, his hand striking out with blinding speed. He grabbed Mrs. Bennett's wrist, twisting it violently. The gun clattered to the floor with a metallic ring, followed by the sickening crunch of bone.
Mrs. Bennett shrieked, falling to her knees.
Nathan didn't even look at her. His cold, furious gaze was fixed on the aerosol canister in my hand. "Do you have the proof?" he asked, his voice dead of all emotion.
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"I have it," I whispered.
"Good," Nathan said. He gestured to two of his men who had silently filed into the room. "Take her to the soundproof room. I want to know exactly how much the Maronis paid her, and I want to know where Malcolm Reeves is hiding."
