Chapter 4 - The Locked Door
The storm hit Southampton on Monday morning with a ferocity that shook the massive stone walls of the Whitmore estate. The sky was a bruised purple-gray, and the rain lashed against the tall windows in relentless sheets.
The wind howled off the ocean, rattling the loose windowpane in the east corridor.
Due to the weather, half the staff had been unable to make the commute from the city, leaving only Nancy, Sarah, and the chef to manage the house. Julian was locked in his study, conducting furious conference calls as the date of the corporate merger drew closer.
Sarah knew this was her chance.
By mid-afternoon, the house was dark, the power flickering occasionally as the wind battered the power lines along the coast. Nancy had gone to the basement to check the generators, leaving Sarah to "finish up" on the third floor.
With a bucket of soapy water in one hand and her heart in her throat, Sarah walked down the east corridor.
The hallway was freezing, the cold air seeping in from the storm outside. She stopped in front of the locked mahogany door.
Her hand went into her apron pocket, fingers wrapping around the cold brass key.
She looked back. Brooke's door was cracked open an inch. A pair of wide, silent eyes watched her from the shadows.
"Watch out for me, sweetie," Sarah whispered.
She stepped up to the door. She slipped the key into the lock. It fit perfectly.
With a deep breath, Sarah turned the key.
Click.
The sound was incredibly loud in the empty corridor. Sarah turned the brass handle and pushed. The door creaked open, revealing a world that had been frozen in time for two years.
It was a beautiful, chaotic, and heartbreaking room.
It was an art studio. Large canvases stood on heavy wooden easels, some completely finished, others half-painted with vibrant, chaotic strokes of blue, gold, and deep crimson. The scent of turpentine and dried lavender was overwhelming here. Dusty jars of paintbrushes sat on a cluttered work table, alongside dried-up tubes of paint and sketches of... Brooke.
Dozens of sketches. Brooke laughing, Brooke playing on the beach, Brooke sleeping, Brooke looking up with a bright, beautiful smile that Sarah had never seen on her face in real life.
Sarah stepped further into the room, her eyes stinging. This was not the room of a woman who had abandoned her child. This was the room of a mother who adored her daughter.
In the center of the room, on a small writing desk, sat a beautifully carved wooden box, its lid open.
Sarah walked over and looked inside.
There were letters. Dozens of them, all addressed to Brooke, written in a elegant, flowing script.
Sarah picked up the top letter. It was dated just two days before Victoria Whitmore disappeared.
"My darling Brooke, If you are reading this, it means I was right. It means they wouldn't let me stay. Your Uncle Richard has found a way to use my illness against me. He wants the shares, my love, and he told me if I do not sign them over and leave quietly, he will make sure Julian loses everything, including custody of you. I cannot let him hurt you. I am going to a hospital in France to get better, but I will find a way back to you. Always remember, my sweet girl, that my love is a ribbon that stretches across the ocean. No matter how far I am, if you pull on it, I am there. Love, Mama."
Sarah’s breath hitched. A tear escaped her eye, dripping onto the dusty glass of the writing desk.
Victoria hadn't abandoned Brooke. She had been blackmailed by Richard, forced to leave to protect her daughter and husband while she was battling a terminal illness. And Richard had used her absence to spin a web of lies, driving Julian into a deep, defensive grief and isolating Brooke from the world.
"What are you doing in here?"
The voice was like a whip cracking in the silent room.
May you like
Sarah spun around, her heart stopping.
Richard Sterling stood in the doorway, his eyes dark with a cold, vicious fury.
