Chapter 2 - THE WHISPER BEHIND THE WALLS"Drop the candlestick, Hilda," I snarled, my finger resting lightly on the trigger. "And don't you dare take another step."
She stopped three feet from the nursery door, her graying hair pinned back in its usual severe bun, her apron crisp and spotless. She looked at the gun barrel, then up into my eyes, her expression utterly devoid of fear. That terrified me more than panic would have.
"You always were dramatic, Gabriel," Hilda said, her voice dripping with a sickening familiarity. "Just like your father. You build walls, you buy cameras, you think money makes you a king. But you let your own flesh and blood starve while you sit in your study playing CEO."
"Starve?" My voice cracked, the word tearing out of my throat. "I pay forty thousand dollars a month for their dietary needs! Every single ingredient is organic, imported, accounted for in your ledgers!"
Hilda let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Ledgers. Oh, Gabriel. You look at numbers on a screen and think you understand reality. Those ledgers are full of phantom shipments, ghost invoices, and catering companies that went bankrupt in 2024. Where do you think that money went?"
"You embezzled it," I said, though my mind was racing, trying to connect the dots of the financial empire I thought I controlled.
"Embezzled is such a vulgar word," she replied, taking a slow step forward. "I reallocated it. To fund the real estate portfolio under my sister's name. And to pay for the private medical care of the woman you just saw on your fancy little camera."
My heart stopped. "The woman from the woods."
"Her name is Sarah," Hilda said, her eyes flashing with a sudden, venomous heat. "And she is the only mother those little girls have had for the last twelve months. While you were upstairs mourning a ghost, starving your daughters with your obsession for sterile perfection, Sarah was the one sneaking scraps of real food through the bars because your 'Iron Cradle' was turning them into skeletons."
Before I could process the shock, the nursery door clicked open behind Hilda.
Small, bare footsteps padded across the hardwood floor.
May you like
I lowered the gun slightly, my eyes darting past Hilda's shoulder. Rosalyn stood in the doorway, clutching her blanket, her big eyes blinking in the dim hallway light. Behind her stood Camille, rubbing her sleep-heavy eyes.
"Daddy?" Rosalyn whispered, her voice heartbreakingly frail. "Is the bad lady going away?"
