Chapter 8 - THE EMPTY CRIB
The drive back to Greenwich became the longest twenty-four minutes of my life.
Adrian’s security vehicles went ahead of us.
Police were contacted.
The estate’s emergency system was activated remotely.
Still, no one inside answered.
I called Lily’s nurse repeatedly.
Nothing.
My father sat beside me in the sedan with both fists clenched.
Neither of us spoke.
There was nothing to say.
Every terrible possibility already existed between us.
When we reached the estate, the front gates were open.
That alone terrified me.
They were never left open.
Two security guards were sitting on the pavement beside the gatehouse.
Alive.
Dazed.
Paramedics rushed toward them.
Our vehicle barely stopped before I opened the door.
Adrian grabbed my arm.
“Claire, stay behind me.”
“My daughter is inside.”
“I know.”
“Then move.”
We ran toward the house.
The front door stood open.
One of my father’s housekeepers was crying in the foyer.
“Where is Lily?”
She pointed upstairs.
“The nursery.”
I ran.
My shoes slipped against the polished stairs.
I reached the hallway.
The nursery door was open.
The crib was empty.
For one second, my entire body stopped working.
Then I heard crying.
Not Lily.
An adult.
The nurse sat on the floor inside the walk-in closet.
Her wrists had been tied.
Tape covered her mouth.
Adrian reached her first.
I searched the room wildly.
“Lily!”
Nothing.
The blanket was gone.
The diaper bag was gone.
My baby was gone.
I screamed Daniel’s name.
My father caught me before I collapsed.
“No. No. No.”
Adrian removed the tape from the nurse.
“Who took the baby?”
She coughed.
“A woman.”
My head snapped up.
“What woman?”
“I don’t know.”
“Vanessa?”
“No.”
“Describe her.”
“Older. Maybe fifty-five. Dark coat. Short hair.”
My father went still.
“What color hair?”
“Gray.”
He stared at her.
“Did she say anything?”
The nurse nodded.
“She said she was taking the baby somewhere safe.”
My father released me.
His face had changed.
“Dad?”
He walked toward the hallway.
“Arthur!” Martin called.
My father turned.
“I know who she is.”
I followed him.
“Who?”
He did not answer until we reached his study.
Then he opened a locked drawer and pulled out an old photograph.
My mother stood beside another woman.
Both were younger.
Maybe thirty.
The second woman had short dark hair streaked with silver.
Even twenty years younger, I recognized the face from the nurse’s description.
“Who is she?”
My father swallowed.
“Margaret Vale.”
“Who is Margaret Vale?”
“Your mother’s closest friend.”
“I’ve never heard that name.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
My father looked at the photograph.
“Because Margaret disappeared after your mother died.”
“Disappeared?”
“She resigned from Harlow Industries and left the country.”
“What did she do there?”
He hesitated.
“Internal audit.”
Project Lantern.
My stomach twisted.
“She worked with Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Then why would she take Lily?”
My father looked toward the empty nursery.
“Maybe because she believes someone here can’t be trusted.”
The implication hit me.
“You?”
“I don’t know.”
Before I could respond, Adrian entered.
“We have camera footage.”
We gathered around the monitor.
The security system had been partially disabled.
But one exterior camera remained active.
At 2:14 p.m., a delivery van approached the service entrance.
Margaret stepped out wearing a catering uniform.
She entered using a valid employee code.
My father stared.
“How did she have that?”
“Someone added her code this morning,” Adrian said.
“Who?”
He checked.
“Administrator credentials.”
My father’s credentials.
Arthur looked stunned.
“I didn’t do that.”
Adrian believed him.
I could tell.
But I suddenly understood why Rebecca warned me.
Not even your father unless he tells you everything.
Someone had access deep inside Harlow systems.
Corporate systems.
Private security.
Possibly financial accounts.
And they were using my father’s identity.
The video continued.
Margaret exited seventeen minutes later carrying Lily.
My baby was wrapped tightly against her chest.
She was not crying.
Margaret paused beside the van.
Then looked directly at the camera.
She held up a piece of paper.
Adrian zoomed in.
Three words.
CHECK ELEANOR’S ROOM.
My father whispered, “Your mother’s bedroom.”
We ran upstairs.
My father had barely entered that room since Mom died.
Everything remained nearly identical.
Her books.
Her perfume bottles.
A silk scarf draped over the vanity mirror.
I stood in the doorway overwhelmed by memory.
Adrian began searching.
My father looked around.
“What would Margaret want us to find?”
I remembered something.
When I was a child, my mother kept important things inside books because she believed burglars searched drawers first.
I moved toward her bookcase.
Hundreds of books.
Then I saw one title.
The Lantern Bearers.
My breath caught.
“Dad.”
I pulled it free.
The book was hollow.
Inside was a key.
And a handwritten note.
For Claire.
My hands shook.
I opened it.
My darling girl,
If you ever find this, then something I feared has happened.
Do not panic.
Do not trust appearances.
And most importantly, do not assume your father knows everything.
Arthur is a good man.
But good men can be deceived when loyalty becomes blindness.
My father closed his eyes.
I continued.
Margaret knows where the original Lantern files are stored.
If she has returned, listen to her.
The key opens a private deposit box under my maiden name.
Inside you will find proof of what I discovered.
I wanted to tell you while I was alive.
I was afraid knowledge would put you in danger.
Forgive me.
Mom.
I could barely see through my tears.
My mother had known.
Years ago.
She had known enough to prepare this.
My phone vibrated.
A new message.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Lily.
Sleeping safely in someone’s arms.
I nearly collapsed with relief.
Then text.
YOUR DAUGHTER IS SAFE.
COME ALONE.
I stared at the address.
An abandoned church thirty miles north.
My father shook his head.
“No.”
“Mom told me to trust Margaret.”
“She told you to listen to her. Not walk into a trap alone.”
Another message arrived.
BRING ELEANOR’S KEY.
NO SECURITY.
I closed my hand around the small brass key.
My father said my name.
I looked at the photograph of Lily again.
May you like
Then at my mother’s letter.
“I’m going.”
