Chapter 4 - THE MAHOGANY BOX
Kieran stared at the velvet-lined mahogany box resting on the dining table.
It was his most heavily guarded possession. He kept it in a biometric safe inside his private study—a room no one, not even the cleaning staff, was allowed to enter without his presence.
And yet, here it was.
He looked at Annie. The young woman was shaking so violently she had to grip the back of a dining chair to stay upright.
“How did Miranda get this?” Kieran asked, his voice deathly quiet.
“She knows your passcode, sir,” Annie whispered, tears tracking over the bruise on her cheek. “I saw her typing it in two nights ago. She waited until you took Flora out for ice cream. She took the box, but she didn’t know how to open the internal lock. She was going to sneak it out of the house tonight.”
Kieran felt a chill crawl up his spine.
He stepped forward and placed his thumb against the small biometric scanner on the side of the box.
A green light flashed.
The lid popped open with a soft click.
Kieran had expected to see the original architectural blueprints of the estate, which was what he had placed inside years ago.
Instead, the blueprints were gone.
Sitting on the red velvet lining was a thick, medical-grade file folder.
Kieran picked it up. His hands felt numb.
The label on the tab was printed in stark black letters:
FLORA ASHBOURNE — PSYCHIATRIC EVALUATION & RESIDENTIAL PLACEMENT.
Kieran stopped breathing.
He ripped open the folder.
Inside were twenty pages of detailed medical notes, psychological assessments, and behavioral reports.
They detailed violent outbursts. Severe emotional detachment. Claims that Flora was a danger to herself and others.
At the bottom of the final page was a recommendation for immediate, permanent placement in a specialized residential psychiatric facility in Switzerland.
And it was signed by a Dr. Aris Thorne.
Kieran’s eyes widened. He had never heard of a Dr. Aris Thorne. He had never taken Flora to a psychiatrist. His daughter was a sweet, gentle, perfectly healthy six-year-old girl.
He looked up at Annie.
“What is this?” Kieran demanded, his voice cracking.
Annie wiped her face. “Miranda paid a doctor to write it, Mr. Ashbourne. She was gathering signatures. She told a friend on the phone last week that once you two were married, she was going to use this file to declare Flora mentally unfit.”
Flora gripped her father’s pant leg. “Daddy? What does unfit mean?”
Kieran dropped to his knees, pulling Flora tightly against his chest. He buried his face in her hair, his entire body trembling with a rage so profound it terrified him.
Miranda hadn’t just wanted his money.
She had planned to institutionalize his little girl. She had planned to lock Flora away in a foreign country so she could have Kieran and the estate entirely to herself.
“It means nothing, sweetheart,” Kieran whispered fiercely, kissing the top of her head. “Nobody is ever going to take you away from me. I promise.”
He stood up, his dark eyes burning.
He looked at the front hallway.
“Marcus!” Kieran bellowed.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor. Marcus, a towering man in a dark suit, appeared in the doorway.
“Sir?”
“Is Miranda still in the house?” Kieran asked.
“She’s upstairs in the master suite, sir. Throwing things into a suitcase.”
“Don’t let her leave,” Kieran ordered. “Call the police. Tell them I’m pressing charges for medical fraud, attempted kidnapping, and child endangerment.”
Marcus nodded sharply. “Right away.”
As Marcus turned to leave, Annie let out a small, terrified gasp.
Kieran turned back to her.
Annie was staring at the open mahogany box.
“Mr. Ashbourne,” Annie whispered, pointing a shaking finger at the velvet lining. “The file… that wasn't the only thing in the box.”
Kieran frowned. He looked down.
Beneath the medical file was a loose piece of paper.
It wasn't a typed document.
It was a child’s drawing, done in bright crayons.
Kieran picked it up.
It was unmistakably Flora’s artwork. There was a stick-figure drawing of the mansion, a bright yellow sun, and a large oak tree.
But beneath the oak tree, drawn in heavy, frantic black crayon scribbles, was a figure of a woman with blonde hair.
The woman was holding a shovel.
Kieran felt the air leave his lungs.
He looked down at his daughter.
“Flora,” Kieran said gently, kneeling again. “Did you draw this?”
Flora looked at the paper. She nodded slowly, hiding her face against his arm.
“Why did you draw Miranda with a shovel, baby?”
Flora sniffled. “Because I saw her outside. When I woke up to get water.”
“When was this?”
“Two days ago,” Flora whispered. “It was really dark. She was digging a hole under the big tree.”
Kieran exchanged a look with Annie.
“Did you see what she put in the hole, sweetheart?” Kieran asked, his heart hammering.
Flora nodded again.
She reached into her tiny pocket.
And pulled out a dirty, mud-caked object.
“She dropped this in the grass,” Flora whispered.
Kieran stared at the object in his daughter’s hand.
May you like
It was a broken pearl earring.
The exact earring his late wife had been wearing the night she fell down the stairs. The earring the police had never been able to find.
