Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Knew His Mother's Lullaby
"Get away from the windows!" Nathaniel shouted.
A woman's scream cut through the dark ballroom.
Glass shattered somewhere near the front entrance. Then came the unmistakable sound of running footsteps.
Nathaniel caught Grace by the shoulders before she could stumble.
"Are you hurt?"
"No. But somebody just took the photograph."
His hand moved toward the inside of his jacket.
"Who?"
"I couldn't see."
A beam of light swept across the floor as Aaron entered from the hallway, holding a flashlight.
"Boss, the security room lost power too. Backup generators aren't responding."
Nathaniel's expression hardened.
"That's not an accident."
"There's something else," Aaron said. "The woman who delivered the photograph is missing."
Behind them, Brianna spoke from the darkness.
"Maybe everyone should calm down. It's probably a transformer."
Nathaniel turned toward her.
"The generators have separate fuel supplies. You know that because you approved their maintenance last month."
Brianna said nothing.
Grace felt Nathaniel's jacket around her shoulders. He had left it with her after the doctor treated her injuries, even though she had insisted she no longer needed it.
She pulled it tighter.
Nathaniel noticed.
"Aaron, get Grace somewhere safe."
"No," Grace whispered.
Both men looked at her.
"The woman who brought the photograph wasn't a stranger."
Nathaniel went still.
"What do you mean?"
"Before she left, she asked whether you still kept your mother's piano."
Nathaniel stared at her.
"My mother died when I was nineteen."
"I know. That's why I thought it was strange."
"Did she give you a name?"
Grace shook her head.
"She had gray hair, a brown coat, and an old silver bracelet. She seemed frightened. But she knew something else."
"What?"
"She said your mother used to sing about a bluebird."
Nathaniel's face changed.
For one brief moment, the powerful man disappeared.
In his place stood a son remembering something precious.
His mother, Elena DeLuca, had sung an old lullaby to him whenever thunderstorms frightened him.
He had never heard anyone outside the family mention it.
Then Aaron's radio crackled.
"We've got the east entrance secured. Someone disabled the generator manually."
Nathaniel looked toward the ballroom.
"Find Brianna."
Aaron raised his flashlight.
The place where Brianna had been standing was empty.
Twenty minutes later, emergency lights illuminated the mansion.
Most of the guests had been escorted into the main courtyard.
Brianna was found in Nathaniel's private office, searching through a locked cabinet.
When Aaron brought Nathaniel inside, she immediately straightened her dress.
"I was looking for a flashlight."
"In a locked drawer?"
She crossed her arms.
"Are you seriously accusing me of sabotage?"
"I'm asking why you hurt Grace."
Brianna looked away.
Nathaniel waited.
Finally, she whispered, "I didn't mean for her to get injured."
Grace stood near the doorway, supported by Aaron.
Nathaniel's voice was dangerously quiet.
"Then what did you mean to do?"
"Stop her from taking things that didn't belong to her."
"She was trying to save something you were burning."
Brianna's composure cracked.
"You have no idea what those papers could do."
"Then explain."
She glanced at Grace.
"Not in front of the maid."
Nathaniel stepped closer.
"Her name is Grace."
Brianna's eyes filled with tears.
"You think you're protecting her. You don't even understand who you're protecting her from."
That was when Grace noticed something on Brianna's wrist.
A thin silver bracelet.
Not identical to the one worn by the woman who delivered the photograph.
But similar enough to be part of a matching set.
Grace remembered seeing those bracelets somewhere.
Then it came to her.
In the old family portrait hanging outside Nathaniel's library, Elena DeLuca wore one around her wrist.
Grace spoke carefully.
"Miss Whitmore, where did you get that bracelet?"
Brianna immediately covered it with her sleeve.
"My grandmother."
Nathaniel looked at her.
"You told me your grandmother died before you were born."
Brianna's cheeks went pale.
"I meant my other grandmother."
Nathaniel reached for the bracelet.
She jerked backward.
"Don't touch me."
A tiny object fell from her purse.
It hit the carpet and rolled beneath Nathaniel's desk.
Grace bent down before anyone could stop her.
It was a silver locket, no bigger than a quarter.
Inside was a photograph of a little girl with dark curls.
On the opposite side were two engraved initials.
E.D.
Nathaniel recognized his mother's initials.
But the child in the photograph wasn't him.
By midnight, Grace was resting in a guest bedroom under the doctor's instructions.
Nathaniel sat beside the fireplace, turning the locket over in his hands.
Aaron entered carrying a damaged security recorder.
"I found the missing footage."
Nathaniel looked up.
"From the library?"
"Most of it. The system was interrupted, but the cameras had local memory."
Aaron connected the recorder to a television.
Grainy footage appeared.
At 3:17 that afternoon, Brianna entered the library with a leather folder.
She began feeding papers into the fireplace.
Several minutes later, Grace appeared carrying fresh linens.
Grace stopped when she noticed the fire.
Brianna grabbed her arm.
There was a struggle.
Grace backed into an open metal drawer, then doubled over.
Nathaniel watched without moving.
On the screen, Brianna stood above the injured woman.
Her lips moved.
There was no audio.
But the camera captured Brianna pointing toward Grace's phone, then making a gesture as though cutting a cord.
Nathaniel understood.
She had threatened the one person Grace couldn't afford to lose.
Her brother.
"Aaron."
"Yes, boss?"
"Make sure every medical bill for Grace's brother is covered, independently of anyone connected to Brianna."
"Already working on it."
"And find out who helped her disable the power."
Aaron hesitated.
"There's a complication."
He changed the footage.
The screen showed a hallway outside the security room.
At 8:43 p.m., someone entered wearing a maintenance uniform.
The figure turned toward the camera.
Nathaniel leaned forward.
"That's impossible."
The man on the screen was Martin Hale.
Nathaniel's trusted estate manager.
A man who had worked for the DeLucas for thirty-four years.
Martin had attended Nathaniel's mother's funeral.
He had helped carry his father's coffin.
And he had taught Nathaniel to drive when he was sixteen.
At 1:10 a.m., Martin was escorted into the study.
He looked exhausted.
Nathaniel placed the photograph of the newborn on the desk.
"Who is this baby?"
Martin stared at the picture.
His hands began trembling.
"I hoped this day would never come."
Nathaniel felt his stomach tighten.
"Answer me."
Martin slowly sat down.
"Your mother wanted to tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"That the story of your birth wasn't true."
Nathaniel's jaw tightened.
"You knew?"
Martin nodded.
"For forty-one years."
Before Nathaniel could speak again, Grace appeared at the open doorway.
She was pale, but her eyes were determined.
"Mr. DeLuca, there's something inside your jacket."
Nathaniel turned.
"What?"
Grace held up the heavy black jacket he had wrapped around her shoulders.
"I felt something stitched into the lining. I thought it might belong to you."
Carefully, she opened a loose seam.
An old hospital identification bracelet slipped into her palm.
The faded blue lettering was barely visible.
Nathaniel took it.
He read the hospital name.
Then the date.
March 18, 1985.
His birthday.
Under the words Infant Male, someone had written a surname.
Not DeLuca.
COLLINS.
Nathaniel looked from the bracelet to Grace.
"Grace," he whispered, "what was your mother's maiden name?"
She swallowed.
"Collins."
Martin buried his face in his hands.
May you like
And Nathaniel realized the wounded maid standing before him might be connected to his birth.
But neither of them knew how.
Related Stories
