Chapter 2 - The Ghost in the Study
The grandfather clock in the downstairs foyer chimed three in the morning. Outside, the autumn wind violently whipped the branches of the towering oak trees against the stone walls, creating a frantic percussion of scratching noises. It was the ideal cover.
I checked on Theo first. He was breathing rhythmically, completely warm under his blanket. I locked Raymond’s bedroom door from the inside using the sliding brass latch. If anyone tried to enter, the resistance would buy me a few precious seconds.
"I'm going to the study now," I told Raymond.
He offered one slow, steady blink. In the hollow contours of his pale face, his eyes held a strange, solemn gratitude. For all his dark past, in this cold house full of backstabbers, the dying mobster was placing his survival in the hands of a penniless single mother.
I slipped out through the narrow service door behind Raymond's dressing room—a route once used by maids to deliver laundry without walking down the main corridor. The corridor was freezing and smelled of damp plaster. Holding my breath, I moved in stocking feet, stepping over the floorboards that I had memorized over the last three weeks to avoid the creaks.
Christopher had posted two armed guards at the main entrance downstairs, but the family study was on the second floor, located in the east wing.
When I reached the heavy oak door of the study, the brass knob turned silently. The room was dark, save for the blue moonlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. High shelves lined with antique leather books towered over a massive executive desk carved from black walnut. Above the grand fireplace hung the oil portrait Raymond had described: a stunning brunette woman with kind hazel eyes and a melancholy smile—his late wife, Elena.
My heart thudded violently in my ears. I stepped up onto the stone hearth, my fingers trembling as I reached behind the gilded frame.
My fingers brushed against cold steel. A small electronic keypad was embedded flush against the plaster.
I swallowed hard and punched in the four numbers Raymond gave me: 4-4-9-0.
A faint click echoed like a gunshot in the silent room. A hidden panel beside the frame sprang open two inches. Inside sat a matte-black safe no larger than a shoebox. Resting on top of a stack of hundred-dollar bills was a silver, encrypted flash drive, and beneath it, a burner phone with a single contact pre-programmed into the directory.
The contact name read: Leo.
I grabbed both the drive and the phone, shoving them into the deep pocket of my nurse’s scrub trousers. Just as I clicked the secret panel shut, the main beam of a flashlight sliced across the carpet outside the study's frosted glass doors.
Heavy boots approached.
"Did you check the second floor?" a gruff voice muttered outside.
"Yeah. The old man is basically a corpse. Christopher says we're done here in two days tops. Wallace is finishing the job in the morning."
I dropped to the floor, sliding beneath the kneehole of the enormous walnut desk just as the door handle jiggled. The door swung open. A security guard stepped inside, sweeping his tactical flashlight across the rows of books, over Elena’s portrait, and directly across the polished top of the desk.
I held my breath until my lungs burned. Dust motes danced in the glare of the light just inches from my face. Theo's tiny pacifier was in my pocket, pressing into my hip, reminding me that if I was caught here, my baby boy would grow up an orphan—or worse, become collateral damage in a mob execution.
The guard’s radio crackled with static. "Unit Two, front gate is clear. Come down for coffee."
"Copy that," the guard sighed, clicking off his flashlight and pulling the door shut behind him.
I waited sixty agonizing seconds before crawling out from under the desk. Running on pure adrenaline, I fled back down the service passage, slipping into Raymond's room and throwing the deadbolt.
Raymond was watching the door, his eyes wide with desperate tension. When he saw me step into the room unharmed, the breath left his chest in a long, ragged exhale.
I pulled out the burner phone and pressed the green call button on the single contact.
It rang twice. Then, a voice as deep and gravelly as crushed stone answered.
"Speak."
"Leo?" I whispered, my voice shaking. "My name is Nora. I'm Raymond Winslow's night nurse. He’s awake. And Christopher is trying to kill him."
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A dead silence fell over the other end of the line for three long seconds.
"Put the phone to his ear," Leo commanded.
