Chapter 3 - The Secret in the GardenDawn broke over Lake Michigan like a bruise, painting the sky in shades of gray and sickly purple. I spent the morning cleaning the massive commercial kitchen under the watchful eye of Mrs. Hargrove, who hadn't spoken a single word to me since the previous afternoon.
At ten o'clock, a knock sounded at the service entrance. It wasn't a delivery driver or an associate of Dominic’s. It was Detective Marcus Vance of the Chicago Police Department—a man whose immaculate tailored suit and expensive cologne clashed violently with the gritty neighborhood he supposedly served.
Through the crack in the pantry door, I watched him corner Dominic near the breakfast nook.
"The federal task force is sniffing around the port shipments, Dominic," Vance said, his voice low and urgent. "They found traces of chemical precursors in warehouse four. If they connect that to the Vale Corporation, your entire operation goes down."
Dominic didn't blink. He poured himself a cup of black coffee, his movements unhurried. "Let them look. Warehouse four belongs to a shell company in the Cayman Islands. By the time federal judges sign off on the jurisdiction, the inventory will be at the bottom of the lake."
"It's not just the freight, Vale," Vance pressed, leaning in closer. "It's the boy. Word on the street is your son is acting up again. Kids talk, even traumatized ones. If child protective services gets a court order to interview Noah independently—"
"No one interviews my son," Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping an octave into a lethal register. "Tell the board of health that Noah has a contagious respiratory infection. Quarantine the estate for two weeks."
"You can't lock down a Lake Forest mansion forever, Dominic. People notice."
"Let them try," Dominic replied coldly.
As Vance turned and stormed out through the front gates, I slipped out of the kitchen and headed toward the glass solarium that opened into the sprawling back gardens. I needed air. The walls of the mansion felt like they were literally closing in, saturated with secrets, blood money, and federal threats.
I stepped onto the dew-soaked grass, walking toward the old stone gazebo near the edge of the property where the dense forest began.
And that was when I saw him.
Noah was sitting cross-legged on the stone floor of the gazebo, staring intensely at a small circle of dirt. But he wasn't playing with toys. He was using a broken piece of slate to carve strange, jagged symbols into the earth—symbols that looked suspiciously like the ones I had glimpsed on the shipping crates in Dominic’s command center.
"You shouldn't be out here," I said softly, stepping cautiously onto the stone platform so I wouldn't startle him. "The guards will yell at both of us."
Noah didn't look up immediately. He finished carving a final, jagged line through the dirt circle, then slowly raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot, dark rings framing them like bruises.
"They're coming through the fence tonight," Noah whispered, his voice completely devoid of childish cadence. It sounded like an adult speaking through a child's vocal cords.
"Who's coming, Noah?" I asked, kneeling down beside him, ignoring the fresh twinge of pain in my ribs.
"The men who took Mama," he said, pointing a dirty finger toward the treeline. "They wear silver watches that don't tick. And they brought the bad medicine."
Before I could ask what he meant, a heavy hand clamped down firmly on my shoulder.
May you like
I spun around to find Dominic standing behind us, his face a mask of absolute, frozen fury.
"Get away from him, Clara," Dominic commanded, pulling Noah up behind his protective frame. "And if you ever listen to a single word my son says about the past, you won't live to cash your first paycheck."
