Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN OUTSIDE MY DOOR
"Laura? Why is Gabriel's door locked?"
Rebecca's voice floated through the heavy oak door.
Laura stood frozen beside my bed, the laboratory report trembling in her hand.
For eighteen days, I had believed my wife was trying to save my life.
Now I knew she might be the reason I was dying.
"Hide it," I whispered.
Laura slipped the report beneath the folded towels on my bedside table. Then she tucked her small flask into her apron.
"Gabriel?" Rebecca called again.
I forced my voice to sound weak and irritated.
"I asked Laura to lock it. I didn't want anyone disturbing me."
A brief silence followed.
Then Rebecca spoke.
"Open the door, Laura."
Laura looked at me.
I nodded.
The lock turned.
My wife entered wearing a cream-colored cashmere coat, expensive heels, and the sapphire bracelet I had given her on our tenth wedding anniversary.
She looked beautiful.
That frightened me more than anything.
Because I remembered the same woman sitting beside our daughter's hospital bed nine years earlier, crying so hard she could barely breathe.
I remembered holding her through that terrible night.
And now I wondered how long she had been planning my funeral.
"What are you doing here so late?" Rebecca asked Laura.
"Mr. Vance was having trouble sleeping. I brought him some warm water."
Rebecca glanced at the flask.
"Ophelia handles Gabriel's medication."
"I know, ma'am."
"Then let Ophelia do her job."
Her words were polite.
Her eyes weren't.
Laura lowered her head.
"Of course."
Rebecca waited until Laura left before sitting on the edge of my bed.
She touched my forehead.
"You're burning up."
I wasn't.
My skin was cold and damp.
"Dr. Price is coming tomorrow," she continued. "He's arranged another examination."
"I want a different doctor."
Her hand stopped moving.
"Gabriel, we've discussed this."
"Then discuss it again."
She studied my face.
For the first time in years, I saw something beneath her careful expression.
Not concern.
Calculation.
"You're exhausted," she said. "You don't know what you're saying."
I turned toward the window.
Beyond the glass, the grounds of our eighteen-million-dollar estate stretched into darkness.
Everything looked peaceful.
The gardens. The fountains. The security lights.
I had built this house because Rebecca once told me she wanted somewhere our family could feel safe.
Now I couldn't even trust the water beside my bed.
"Where's my father's watch?" I asked suddenly.
Rebecca blinked.
"What?"
"The silver watch. I kept it in the top drawer."
"I sent it for repairs."
"When?"
"Last week."
My father had worn that watch for thirty-six years.
Its glass was scratched. The leather strap had been replaced twice.
On the back were four engraved words.
Always keep your word.
I had worn it when I started my first company.
I had worn it when our daughter Lily was born.
And I had taken it off the night she died.
I hadn't asked anyone to repair it.
"Which jeweler?" I asked.
"Gabriel, please. You can barely sit up, and you're worrying about a watch?"
She reached for the glass of water on my nightstand.
"Drink something."
My stomach tightened.
"No."
"You're dehydrated."
"I said no."
Rebecca slowly returned the glass to the table.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then her expression softened.
"Do you remember Lily's seventh birthday?" she asked.
The question hit me like a physical blow.
Lily had never reached seven.
She died three months after turning five.
Rebecca knew that.
"Why would you ask me that?"
She looked away.
"Sometimes I wonder what she would have been like."
Her thumb moved over the tiny silver charm hanging from her bracelet.
A little heart.
Lily's initials were engraved inside.
"I miss her too," I whispered.
Rebecca's eyes filled with tears.
For one dangerous moment, I almost believed everything could still be explained.
Then she stood.
"Try to sleep. Ophelia will bring your medication in the morning."
At the doorway, she paused.
"And Gabriel?"
"Yes?"
"Don't let Laura's little boy wander around upstairs anymore. He doesn't belong in the family bedrooms."
My blood turned cold.
I hadn't mentioned Leo.
Rebecca left before I could answer.
Twenty minutes later, Laura returned through the adjoining dressing room.
She carried fresh towels, pretending she was replacing the linen.
"She knows Leo was here," I whispered.
Laura went pale.
"How?"
"I don't know."
She retrieved the laboratory report and tucked it inside her blouse.
Then she handed me a folded sheet of paper.
"I found this in the laundry basket outside Mrs. Vance's dressing room."
It was a printed invoice.
At the top were the words:
PRIVATE MEMORIAL SERVICES — VANCE FAMILY ACCOUNT
Below them was a payment of $74,800.
Paid in full.
The date was eleven days earlier.
My wife had paid nearly seventy-five thousand dollars for funeral arrangements while I was still breathing.
I read the page twice.
Then I noticed another line.
Services scheduled pending confirmation of estate transition.
"What's estate transition?" Laura whispered.
"I don't know."
But I remembered something.
Three years earlier, Daniel Whitcomb, my longtime attorney, had encouraged me to update the Vance Family Trust.
The changes were meant to protect the company if I became seriously ill.
Rebecca would receive temporary financial authority.
Daniel would supervise the transition.
I had trusted both of them.
"Find my blue folder," I whispered. "The one in my study."
"Mrs. Vance keeps the study locked."
"Then don't risk it."
Laura looked at the invoice.
"Mr. Vance, what if they're planning something for a specific day?"
Before I could answer, a quiet mechanical sound came from the antique brass clock above my fireplace.
A tiny click.
Laura turned.
"What was that?"
The clock had been a gift from Rebecca six months earlier.
It sat on a shelf facing my bed.
Its hands had stopped at 8:17 several weeks ago.
Rebecca had insisted we leave it there because she liked how it looked.
Laura approached the shelf.
A pinpoint of red light flickered behind the decorative glass.
"Oh, my God," she breathed.
She tilted the clock.
A small black lens was concealed near the brass numbers.
A camera.
Pointed directly at my bed.
Laura looked back at me in horror.
Everything suddenly made sense.
Rebecca knew when I refused food.
She knew when Laura visited.
She knew about Leo.
And she knew I had been hiding my medication.
"Put it back," I whispered.
But before Laura could move, a woman's voice came from the clock's tiny speaker.
Calm.
Familiar.
May you like
Terrifying.
"Gabriel, sweetheart. Stop pretending. I've been watching you for eighteen days."
