Chapter 2
I ended the gala without ending the room.
“Everyone finishes dinner.”
People stared.
“No speeches. No pledges. No one leaves through the service corridor.”
That last instruction made Serena look at me.
Good.
Rafe, my senior bodyguard, moved toward the doors.
Not locking anyone in.
Watching.
I turned to Martha.
“When did you last see Eli?”
“Yesterday morning.”
She described him.
Nine.
Small.
Always reading.
Hated peas.
Collected keys because he believed every key had a story.
That sounded like a child I would have liked.
“What did he find?”
Martha looked toward Serena.
“A metal box.”
There.
“What was inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who does?”
“Eli.”
Of course.
Martha had been baking before sunrise when Eli came into the kitchen holding my old locker key.
He said he found it inside a rusted tin behind loose pantry bricks.
The tin also contained folded photographs and a small black notebook.
Before Martha could inspect them, Serena arrived unexpectedly.
At six forty in the morning.
The gala organizer.
At a children’s home she claimed later had already closed.
“What did she do?”
Martha’s hands tightened.
“She told everyone to pack.”
Serena interrupted.
“The building had a structural issue.”
I looked at her.
“Which issue?”
“Gas lines.”
Martha shook her head.
“No smell. No workers. No inspector.”
Serena’s jaw tightened.
I asked:
“Where were the children taken?”
She finally answered.
“Hawthorne House.”
I knew it.
A former retreat property forty miles north.
Owned by the Vale family.
Serena’s family.
Not mine.
“Why there?”
“It was available.”
“Who authorized it?”
“I did.”
There.
The first honest sentence.
Then Martha whispered:
“The buses left hungry.”
Serena turned sharply.
“That is absurd.”
Martha looked at her.
“You locked the kitchen inventory.”
My hand slowly closed around my napkin.
Serena’s charity staff had taken control of the pantry three weeks earlier after promising to modernize food purchasing.
Yesterday morning, nobody was permitted to cook.
Why?
Because the children were supposed to leave immediately.
No breakfast.
No delay.
No witnesses wandering through the building.
I looked at the bread basket.
Martha had baked at home.
That was how she fed the children when the charity supposedly carrying my name stopped her from using their own kitchen.
“Why is Eli missing?”
Serena said nothing.
Rose did.
“Because he never got on either bus.”
My eyes moved to her.
“How do you know?”
“I counted.”
May you like
A waitress had counted my children.
My fiancée had not.
