Chapter 2 - The Mansion Behind Iron Gates
I walked out of the hospital into the freezing midnight drizzle, flanked by Detective Hayes and four armed private security officers.
My billion-dollar estate on the outskirts of Boston, which had once felt like an impenetrable fortress, now looked like a crime scene shrouded in fog.
The security gate was wide open, tires screeching against the wet asphalt as police cruisers lined the cobblestone driveway.
Inside, the grand foyer was suffocatingly quiet.
The staff stood lined up in the hallway, their faces pale and terrified as investigators dusted the nursery furniture for fingerprints.
"Where is Margaret Vance?" I roared, my voice shattering the silence.
Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, stepped forward with shaking hands, her apron twisted between her fingers.
"Mr. Whitaker... she packed a single suitcase and left through the service gate twenty minutes after you left for the hospital. She took the gray sedan from the carriage house."
"And Emily?" I pressed, my heart hammering against my ribs with sickening guilt. "Where did Emily go?"
Mrs. Gable looked down at the floor, wiping away a stray tear.
"You told her to leave the property immediately, sir. She had no car and no money for a taxi. She took her coat and began walking toward the bus depot in the rain."
I closed my eyes, picturing the frail young woman trudging along the highway shoulder in the pitch dark.
"Detective Hayes," I said, turning to the lead investigator with cold, deadly focus. "Trace Margaret's vehicle immediately. Put out an amber alert on that license plate."
"We're already pinging her cell tower records, Mr. Whitaker," Hayes replied, adjusting his trench coat.
"But you need to look at what we uncovered in the master nursery."
I followed him up the spiral staircase into the room where Zion had slept every night of his life.
Behind the vintage wooden bookshelf, tucked inside a hidden vent in the floor, Hayes pulled out three amber vials and a bundle of offshore banking statements.
The name on the Cayman Island accounts wasn't Margaret Vance.
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It was Richard Whitaker.
My own brother.
