Chapter 2 - The Soft-Spoken IntruderRory froze. He stared at Maeve, then looked down at the golden-brown teddy bear with its blue ribbon tied neatly around its neck.
"Mr. Honey?" Rory frowned, his brow furrowing in deep skepticism. "That bear was a gift from my sister-in-law, Susan. It’s a children's toy. It was scanned by my security team twice."
"Your security team looks for wires, cameras, and radio frequencies, Mr. Starks," Maeve said, standing up gracefully from the floor. She kept her voice low so as not to wake the twins, who had finally drifted into a peaceful, natural sleep. "They don't look for acoustic transducers hidden inside polyester stuffing."
Rory stepped closer, his dark eyes narrowing. "An acoustic transducer?"
"It’s a micro-speaker," Maeve explained, taking a cautious step forward. "My grandfather was a clockmaker and an amateur radio engineer. He taught me how sound travels through dense materials. If you press your ear against that bear’s back when the room is quiet, you can hear a faint, high-frequency hum. It’s not loud enough for adults to notice when they're walking by, but to children—whose hearing is much sharper than ours—it sounds like a persistent, agonizing drill inside their heads."
Rory’s heart hammered against his ribs like a sledgehammer. A cold, lethal fury began to flood his veins—not directed at Maeve, but at the dark, insidious truth hovering just beneath the surface.
"Susan gave them that bear," Rory whispered, the pieces beginning to connect in his mind with terrifying clarity. "Two months ago."
"Right after your late wife’s sister visited," Maeve nodded softly.
Rory didn't hesitate. He reached down, grabbed the golden-brown teddy bear by its paw, and lifted it from the bed.
"Don't!" Maeve warned, stepping back quickly. "If there’s a localized circuit or a tracking device wired into the voice box, shaking it might trigger a remote signal."
Rory stopped, his massive hand hovering in the air. He looked at Maeve with a sudden, profound shift in his evaluation of the young maid.
She wasn't just a domestic worker. She had a mind, an eye for detail, and a courage that most of his high-paid associates lacked.
"What do we do?" Rory asked, his voice dropping into a low, absolute command.
May you like
Maeve walked over to the craft table, picked up a pair of heavy-duty stainless-steel tailoring scissors, and handed them to Rory.
"We cut it open," Maeve said. "Right here. Right now."
