Chapter 2 - Nobody Leaves the Mansion
Enzo did not ask Adeline to repeat herself.
He simply watched Vincent Rourke.
That was worse.
Vincent remained near the ballroom bar, one hand resting against the polished wood as though this were a mildly inconvenient board meeting rather than a locked mansion with a drugged champagne glass sitting inside an evidence bag.
He had the calm of a man who had spent decades learning that wealthy people rarely accused each other directly.
Not without lawyers.
Not without leverage.
Not without certainty.
Vincent smiled.
“Is there something you want to ask me, Enzo?”
Enzo didn’t answer.
Adeline’s fingers tightened around the borrowed tuxedo jacket.
Vincent looked at her.
“You seem frightened.”
She said nothing.
“Understandably.”
Mateo moved between them.
“Let’s keep some distance.”
Vincent raised both hands.
“Of course.”
Camilla stood near the champagne tower, pale and rigid.
Beatrice had moved closer to her niece.
That alone seemed significant.
Ten minutes ago, Camilla had looked ready to tear through anyone who contradicted her.
Now she looked like someone waiting for a door to explode inward.
Enzo turned to Adeline.
“Come with me.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Where?”
“My study.”
Beatrice immediately spoke.
“She should stay with the other staff.”
Enzo looked at her.
“Why?”
Beatrice smiled too quickly.
“No reason. I only mean that she may feel more comfortable.”
“I’ll ask her.”
Adeline looked at Beatrice.
The older woman’s face appeared composed.
Her eyes weren’t.
Owen.
Adeline understood the message.
She turned back to Enzo.
“I’ll go.”
The study was upstairs.
Mateo accompanied them.
So did a female security officer named Lena Park.
Enzo had insisted.
“You were assaulted tonight,” he told Adeline. “You’re not being questioned alone.”
That surprised her.
Rich men like Enzo Marchetti weren’t supposed to care how things looked for housekeepers.
At least not according to everything she had learned growing up.
The study doors closed.
The room smelled of leather, old paper, and wood smoke.
No fireplace was burning.
The scent was simply embedded in the place.
Enzo poured water into a glass.
Adeline stared at it.
He noticed.
Then poured from a sealed bottle instead.
He handed it to her.
She almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead she drank.
Mateo sat across from her.
“Tell us what you saw.”
Adeline looked at Enzo.
“Will you protect my brother?”
His expression changed.
“What happened to your brother?”
“Nothing yet.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Mateo leaned forward.
“Did somebody threaten him?”
Adeline looked at the door.
Then at the ceiling.
As though security cameras might somehow belong to the wrong people.
Enzo saw that too.
He walked to the wall and pressed a switch.
A small light beside the ceiling camera went dark.
Mateo raised an eyebrow.
“This room is offline now.”
Enzo faced Adeline.
“Talk.”
She took a breath.
“Camilla picked up a glass that wasn’t supposed to be hers.”
Enzo remained still.
“How do you know?”
“I was clearing empty flutes near the champagne station. There was a large floral arrangement blocking part of the service table. I heard two people talking behind it.”
“Who?”
“I couldn’t see at first.”
“What did they say?”
Adeline closed her eyes.
“Someone said, ‘Make sure he gets this one.’”
Enzo’s expression didn’t change.
Mateo’s did.
“Then?”
“I saw a hand pour something from a small bottle.”
“Into the champagne?”
“Yes.”
“Whose hand?”
“That’s the problem.”
Mateo waited.
“It looked like a woman’s hand.”
“Ring?”
“Emerald.”
“Beatrice.”
“No.”
Enzo frowned.
“You said it wasn’t her.”
“I saw her later. She was standing near the ballroom doors when Camilla took the glass.”
“So someone else wore her ring?”
Adeline shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Keep going.”
“Camilla picked up the glass.”
“And you thought she was going to drink it.”
“Yes. At first.”
“At first?”
Adeline looked at him.
“She wasn’t.”
The room went very still.
“She walked directly toward you.”
Enzo’s jaw tightened.
“You took it from her.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
“I tried to get rid of the glass before anyone noticed.”
“And Camilla noticed.”
“Yes.”
“She followed you.”
“Yes.”
“To the service corridor.”
“Yes.”
“And attacked you.”
Adeline nodded.
Mateo looked toward Enzo.
“Whoever planned this knew enough about the party to know Camilla would personally hand you a drink.”
Enzo’s gaze remained on Adeline.
“Who threatened your brother?”
She hesitated.
“Beatrice.”
Mateo sat up.
“Exact words.”
“She told me to pretend I saw nothing.”
“And then?”
“She said, ‘Your brother still works at St. Catherine’s, doesn’t he?’”
Enzo stood.
A slow, dangerous movement.
“The Vale Foundation owns half that hospital.”
“Not owns,” Mateo said. “But close enough.”
Enzo walked to his desk.
Pressed the intercom.
“Lena.”
The officer looked up.
“Contact St. Catherine’s security. Get Owen Croft placed somewhere safe. Quietly.”
Adeline’s heart jumped.
“Don’t tell them why.”
“I won’t.”
“If Beatrice finds out—”
“She already knows you talked.”
Adeline stared.
Enzo softened his tone by a fraction.
“That means silence no longer protects him.”
The truth hurt.
Because he was right.
Mateo’s phone buzzed.
He checked it.
“Camera team found another angle.”
Enzo turned.
“Show me.”
Mateo opened the clip.
The footage was grainy.
A timestamp flashed in the corner.
10:41 p.m.
Guests drifted past the champagne tower.
Waiters moved in and out.
The floral arrangement blocked most of the table.
Then a woman approached.
Black velvet.
Silver hair.
Emerald earrings.
Beatrice.
Adeline leaned forward.
“That’s her.”
Beatrice lifted a glass.
Then turned away.
“Wait,” Adeline said.
Mateo paused.
“Go back.”
He did.
“Zoom.”
Pixelation swallowed the image.
But something became visible.
Beatrice’s right hand.
Bare.
No emerald ring.
Enzo stared.
“She wasn’t wearing it.”
Adeline felt cold.
Mateo rewound another thirty seconds.
A man crossed behind the flowers.
Vincent.
Only for a moment.
He spoke to someone out of view.
Then kept walking.
Another figure appeared.
Camilla.
She touched Beatrice’s arm.
Beatrice removed the emerald ring.
Handed it to her.
Adeline whispered, “Why?”
Enzo’s face became unreadable.
Camilla wore the ring for less than two minutes.
Then returned it.
Mateo froze the image.
“That makes the hand on the other camera Camilla’s.”
Adeline stared.
Camilla had poured the substance.
Camilla had carried the glass.
Camilla had beaten her for stopping it.
It seemed obvious.
Too obvious.
Enzo saw her expression.
“You’re thinking something.”
“The voice.”
“What voice?”
“The person who said, ‘Make sure he gets this one.’”
“Camilla?”
Adeline shook her head.
“No.”
“Beatrice?”
“No.”
Mateo leaned in.
“Who?”
Adeline looked toward the dark camera.
“I’m not sure.”
Enzo’s eyes narrowed.
“But?”
“It was a man.”
Nobody spoke.
Camilla may have prepared the drink.
But a man had instructed her.
Mateo stood.
“I want Vincent separated.”
Enzo nodded.
“And Beatrice.”
“And Camilla?”
Enzo looked toward the door.
“Especially Camilla.”
They questioned Beatrice first.
She denied threatening Owen.
Denied knowing anything about the sedative.
Denied understanding why Camilla borrowed her ring.
“She said she wanted to try it with her dress.”
“For ninety seconds?” Mateo asked.
Beatrice looked offended.
“You clearly don’t understand women.”
Mateo didn’t smile.
They brought Camilla in next.
She had changed.
Not clothes.
Something else.
The arrogance had cracked.
She sat across from Enzo without looking at Adeline.
Mateo placed a still frame from the camera footage on the table.
Camilla stared at it.
“Why were you wearing Beatrice’s ring?”
“I liked it.”
“Why did you pour something into a champagne glass?”
“I didn’t.”
Mateo slid another image forward.
Camilla’s jaw tightened.
Enzo said, “Don’t insult me.”
She looked at him.
Something close to grief passed across her face.
“I wasn’t trying to kill you.”
“No one said kill.”
Camilla realized her mistake.
Too late.
Enzo leaned forward.
“What was in the glass?”
“I don’t know.”
“You poured it.”
“I was told it was medication.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Camilla’s eyes moved toward Adeline.
Adeline expected hatred.
Instead she saw shame.
Camilla looked away.
“They said it would make you sick for a few hours.”
“Who?”
Silence.
Enzo’s voice hardened.
“Who?”
Camilla’s eyes filled.
“If I tell you, people die.”
“People may already die.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
Camilla swallowed.
“They told me the engagement had to happen tonight.”
Enzo stared.
“We’ve been engaged for six months.”
“No. The announcement. The contracts. The merger papers.”
Enzo’s brow furrowed.
Their engagement celebration had included more than champagne.
The Ashford family and Marchetti Consolidated were supposed to sign a massive hotel and infrastructure partnership the following morning.
Camilla whispered, “You were going to cancel the deal.”
Enzo didn’t deny it.
“You found something in the numbers.”
Mateo glanced at him.
Enzo looked at Camilla.
“How do you know?”
“Because they were terrified.”
“Who?”
She started crying.
Not elegantly.
Not quietly.
The sound came from somewhere deeper.
“My aunt.”
Beatrice.
“And?”
Camilla shook her head.
“I can’t.”
Enzo stood.
“Then this conversation is over.”
Camilla looked up sharply.
“They’ll kill her.”
“Who?”
Camilla whispered something.
Adeline couldn’t hear.
Enzo leaned closer.
“What did you say?”
“Vincent.”
The name sat in the room.
Heavy.
Old.
Camilla looked at Adeline.
“You don’t know what he is.”
Adeline’s chest tightened.
“My father did.”
Camilla stared at her.
“What?”
Adeline hadn’t meant to say it.
Neither had she meant to remember.
But once the memory returned, more followed.
Her father at their kitchen table.
Fourteen years ago.
Hands black with elevator grease.
Voice low.
He had been frightened.
She had never seen him frightened before.
If anything happens to me, find the music.
Adeline had been fifteen.
She thought he meant his record collection.
He loved Sinatra.
Dean Martin.
Ella Fitzgerald.
Old records bought from pawnshops and garage sales.
Three days later, her father’s elevator plunged six floors inside a Marchetti-owned office tower.
He survived.
Barely.
His partner didn’t.
The newspapers called it mechanical failure.
Her father spent the next seven years in pain.
Then died from complications after another surgery.
Adeline looked at Enzo.
“What office tower did your family own fourteen years ago?”
Enzo stared.
“Several.”
“Did one have an elevator accident?”
Mateo looked at him.
Enzo slowly sat down.
“Yes.”
Adeline’s pulse pounded.
“Where?”
“Marchetti Financial Center.”
Her mouth went dry.
“That was my father.”
Nobody moved.
“What was his name?” Enzo asked.
“Thomas Croft.”
Mateo’s expression changed instantly.
Enzo saw it.
“What?”
Mateo hesitated.
Then reached for his phone.
“I know that name.”
“From where?”
Mateo searched.
A file appeared.
Old.
Archived.
He placed the phone on the table.
A scanned report filled the screen.
THOMAS CROFT.
ELEVATOR MAINTENANCE CONTRACTOR.
INCIDENT DATE: OCTOBER 14.
Then another line.
INVESTIGATION CLOSED.
CAUSE: UNAUTHORIZED SYSTEM MODIFICATION.
Adeline stared.
“My father didn’t modify anything.”
Mateo scrolled.
There was more.
A note.
Internal financial review initiated three days before accident.
Missing funds under investigation.
Amount:
$28.4 million.
Enzo became perfectly still.
Mateo looked up.
“This report was sealed.”
“By who?”
Mateo scrolled to the authorization.
He didn’t need to say the name.
Adeline read it herself.
VINCENT ROURKE.
And beneath his signature was a handwritten note:
Maintenance contractor Croft may have accessed restricted records.
Adeline felt the room tilt.
Her father hadn’t been injured in a random accident.
He had found something.
Something worth almost thirty million dollars.
Something Vincent Rourke had buried.
Enzo looked at Camilla.
“Did Vincent mention Thomas Croft?”
Camilla shook her head.
Then stopped.
Her eyes widened.
“No.”
“What?”
“He didn’t.”
“But?”
“My aunt did.”
Adeline turned.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Camilla looked genuinely terrified now.
“She said if the Croft girl ever became a problem, Vincent would know what to do.”
Adeline felt ice move through her veins.
The Croft girl.
Not a maid.
Not an employee.
Her.
Enzo stood.
“Mateo.”
“I’m on it.”
“Find Vincent.”
Lena opened the study door before Mateo reached it.
Her face was pale.
“He’s gone.”
Enzo stared.
“How?”
“We don’t know.”
“The house is sealed.”
“I know.”
Mateo moved past her.
“Check tunnels. Service corridors. Garages.”
Lena didn’t move.
“Sir.”
Enzo looked at her.
“There’s something else.”
She held out a phone.
Security footage.
A basement camera.
Vincent Rourke walking through an underground corridor.
Timestamp: three minutes earlier.
In his hand was an old vinyl record.
Adeline stopped breathing.
She recognized the cover.
Frank Sinatra.
In the Wee Small Hours.
Her father’s favorite record.
The same record that had disappeared from their apartment two days after the elevator accident.
Vincent had it.
May you like
After fourteen years.
And he was carrying it out of Enzo Marchetti’s house.
