Chapter 3 - THE LITTLE BOY AND THE BRASS KEY
“Drive faster!”
I hardly recognized my own voice.
Julian's black SUV raced along the estate's private road while smoke from the burning mansion disappeared behind the trees.
Cottage Three was less than half a mile away.
But every second felt unbearable.
My son was six years old.
He still slept with the stuffed brown rabbit his father had bought him.
He still asked why Daddy couldn't come home for Christmas.
And now two men working for a security director who had apparently trapped an elderly woman above a fire had entered our house.
Julian spoke into his radio.
“Anyone at Cottage Three answers directly to me. Nobody leaves the property.”
There was no response.
He glanced at me.
“Brooke, look at me.”
“I can't.”
“Your boy is going to be our first priority.”
I wanted to believe him.
But I'd already learned how quickly a rich person's promises could disappear when a poor person's life became inconvenient.
We turned into the cottage driveway.
The porch light was on.
The front door stood open.
I was out of the SUV before Julian had fully stopped.
“ELI!”
I rushed inside.
The living room looked as though someone had searched it.
Couch cushions were scattered across the floor.
A drawer had been pulled from my husband's old writing desk.
His photographs were lying facedown.
“Eli!”
A small voice answered from the kitchen.
“Mommy?”
I ran toward it.
My son was standing beside Mrs. Keene, our sixty-eight-year-old neighbor.
She had one protective arm around him.
His stuffed rabbit was tucked beneath his chin.
I dropped to my knees and pulled him against me.
“Oh, baby.”
He wrapped his arms around my neck.
“Mommy, why are you crying?”
“Because I missed you.”
He touched my cheek.
“I'm okay.”
I held him tighter.
Mrs. Keene looked at Julian.
“Two security men came here about fifteen minutes ago. They said there was a fire at the mansion and they needed to check the cottage.”
“Where are they?” Julian asked.
“Gone.”
“Did they hurt anyone?”
“No. But when I told them to leave the children's things alone, one of them said they had instructions from Mr. Mercer.”
Julian's jaw tightened.
“What did they take?”
Mrs. Keene pointed toward the writing desk.
“A blue metal lunchbox. It belonged to Brooke's husband.”
I turned.
Daniel's lunchbox was gone.
He had carried it to work every morning for nearly nine years.
After he died, I'd put his old work papers inside and stored it beneath the desk.
I hadn't opened it in months.
Julian looked at me.
“What was inside?”
“Some pay stubs. A few photographs. His safety inspection notes.”
“What kind of inspection notes?”
“My husband worked as a maintenance safety technician at one of your shipping warehouses.”
Julian became very still.
“Which warehouse?”
“Number Seventeen. Near the Savannah port.”
Something changed in his face.
“That's where the fire happened.”
I nodded.
Eighteen months earlier, Daniel had died during a warehouse fire.
The official investigation called it an electrical accident.
His employer said the emergency equipment had malfunctioned.
I received a settlement that barely covered the funeral and the outstanding bills.
Four months later, I came to work for the Ashford family.
Until tonight, I'd believed the tragedy had nothing to do with my job.
Julian slowly looked around the damaged room.
“Your husband worked at an Ashford warehouse.”
“Yes.”
“And Mercer has just searched your house for his papers.”
I nodded.
Julian looked away.
For the first time, I saw something more painful than anger in his expression.
Shame.
“I didn't know who your husband was, Brooke.”
“Neither did anyone who offered me this job.”
Mrs. Keene cleared her throat.
“That's not entirely true.”
We turned toward her.
She looked uncomfortable.
“Mrs. Ashford came to see me before Brooke was hired. She knew I sometimes helped with Eli.”
I stared.
“Helen came here?”
“She asked whether you were managing. Whether you had family nearby. She seemed particularly concerned about your boy.”
I remembered my first interview.
The position had opened unexpectedly.
The salary was better than anything I'd earned before.
Helen had personally approved my application.
I had thought she was simply kind.
Now I wasn't so sure.
“Why would she do that?” I whispered.
Nobody answered.
Then Eli tugged my sleeve.
“Mommy?”
I bent down.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“The men wanted Daddy's box.”
“I know.”
“They asked if Daddy had another one.”
Julian crouched a little farther away, giving him space.
“What did you tell them, buddy?”
Eli looked at me first.
I nodded.
“You can tell him.”
“I said Daddy had his train.”
My heart twisted.
Daniel had built a small wooden train for Eli's fourth birthday.
The wheels didn't always turn properly.
But Eli loved it because his father had painted his name across the side.
“Where's the train?” I asked.
“In my room.”
He took my hand.
We followed him down the hallway.
His bedroom was untouched.
The little wooden train sat beside his pillow.
Eli picked it up and turned it upside down.
“Daddy said this was our secret.”
He slid a tiny wooden panel away.
Something metallic fell into his palm.
A brass key.
Small.
Old-fashioned.
Stamped with the number 17.
I stared at it.
“Eli, when did Daddy give you this?”
He thought for a moment.
“Before the big rain. When he fixed my train.”
That was the week before Daniel died.
Eli carefully placed the key in my hand.
“Daddy said it's for something important.”
Julian examined it without touching it.
“That's a port storage key.”
“How can you tell?”
“The old freight depot used brass keys like that. We replaced them years ago, but some private lockers remained.”
I looked down at the number.
Seventeen.
Daniel's warehouse.
Daniel's death.
And a security director willing to start another fire while searching for his belongings.
My telephone vibrated.
It was Dunn.
He had accompanied Helen to the hospital.
I put the call on speaker.
“Brooke, Mrs. Ashford is stable. She's asking for you.”
I swallowed.
“Does she know why Mercer searched my house?”
There was a brief silence.
Then Helen's weak voice came through.
“Yes, Brooke.”
Tears stung my eyes.
“Mrs. Ashford, what did my husband discover?”
She took a shaky breath.
“Your husband came to my house four nights before he died.”
I gripped the little brass key.
“What?”
“He showed me something I should have taken straight to the authorities.”
Julian leaned toward the phone.
“Mother, you told me Daniel Sullivan's death was a terrible accident.”
Helen began crying.
“I told you what Mercer convinced me to believe.”
“About what?”
Her answer came slowly.
“The warehouse fire.”
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Then she said the words that would change everything.
“Daniel wasn't afraid of the fire, Brooke. He was afraid of the people who kept locking the emergency exits.”
