Chapter 2 - The Whispering Gallery
By midnight, the mansion was shrouded in rain and quiet shadows.
The DNA swab samples from myself, Charlee, and baby Dexter had been picked up by a trusted, independent forensic lab via armed courier. Results were promised within eighteen hours.
I sat in the dimly lit library on the ground floor, holding an old leather-bound ledger I had pulled from my father’s hidden wall safe behind the fireplace. It was my father’s private journal from thirty years ago—the year Florence Knox had been abruptly terminated from her job as head housekeeper.
I flipped through the yellowed pages, my eyes scanning the faded black ink.
August 14, 1996: Florence came to my office crying today. She told me what Victoria did in the west wing. Heaven help me, if the board finds out about Victoria's secret clinic payments, the company will collapse. I have paid Florence fifty thousand dollars to take her young daughter Clara and relocate to Oregon. It is the only way to keep them safe from Victoria.
My breath caught in my throat.
My father hadn't fired Florence for theft. He had sent her away to protect her from Victoria!
"Mr. Spencer?"
I looked up. Charlee was standing in the doorway of the library, wearing oversized pink pajamas that Mrs. Mabel had bought her. She was rubbing her eyes, holding her blue teddy bear under one arm.
"Charlee?" I set the journal down instantly and walked over to her, kneeling down to her eye level. "Why are you awake, sweetheart? Is Dexter crying?"
"No," Charlee whispered, looking nervously down the long, dark hallway. "Dexter is sleeping. But I heard footsteps outside the nursery window."
My body went instantly rigid. "Footsteps? Charlee, we're on the second floor."
"I know," Charlee said quietly, her voice trembling. "There was a ladder against the balcony. A man with a black coat was looking through the glass at Dexter’s crib. I hid behind the curtain like Grandma taught me."
A wave of pure adrenaline surged through my veins.
I grabbed Charlee, lifted her into my arms, and sprinted up the grand staircase toward the nursery.
When I reached the second-floor corridor, the two private security guards I had hired were slumped against the wall, unconscious! A sweet, chemical smell hung heavy in the air—chloroform.
"Mrs. Mabel!" I yelled, kicking open the nursery door.
The heavy balcony doors were wide open, rain blowing hard into the room, soaking the hardwood floor.
The crib was empty.
My heart shattered into a thousand pieces. "DEXTER!"
I rushed to the balcony, staring down into the dark, rain-drenched gardens below. A shadowy figure in a black raincoat was sprinting toward the perimeter fence, carrying a small, waterproof bundle in his arms.
"MARCUS!" I screamed into my shoulder radio, my voice echoing across the estate. "CODE RED! THE BABY HAS BEEN TAKEN! LOCK DOWN ALL GATES NOW!"
Without thinking, I vaulted over the stone railing of the second-floor balcony, dropping fifteen feet onto the soft muddy grass below. Pain shot through my ankle, but I ignored it, scrambling to my feet and sprinting through the dark rose garden in relentless pursuit of the intruder.
The figure reached the iron perimeter gate, pulling out a master keycard to bypass the electronic lock.
"STOP!" I roared, throwing my body forward and tackling the man into the muddy grass just as the heavy gates swung open.
We tumbled across the gravel driveway. The intruder fought back violently, throwing a punch that grazed my cheek, but I pinned his wrists to the ground, tearing off his black ski mask.
The floodlights from security vehicles roared to life, illuminating the intruder's face in stark, blinding light.
It wasn't a random kidnapper.
It was Julian Vance—Victoria’s personal driver and estate manager for twenty years.
And clutching tight to his chest inside a padded waterproof bag was baby Dexter, crying loudly but unharmed.
"Get off me, Spencer!" Julian spat, blood dripping from his lip.
Marcus and three armed security guards tackled Julian, pinning him to the ground in handcuffs while I scooped baby Dexter into my arms, wrapping my dry coat around his trembling body.
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"Who sent you, Julian?!" I shouted, my chest heaving with rage as rain poured over my face. "WAS IT VICTORIA?!"
Julian sneered, spitting mud onto the driveway. "You don't know anything, Spencer! That baby isn't just your son... he's the sole legal beneficiary of the Cooper-Warren Merger Trust! If he stays alive, Victoria loses fifty million dollars!"
