Chapter 2 - THE LIGHT THAT WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO BREAK
“What did you do?”
Dominic Moretti's voice was barely stronger than a whisper.
But every armed man in that bedroom went still.
I stood beside the shattered window, blood dripping from my left palm onto the expensive cream carpet.
“I stopped the flashing light,” I answered.
Dominic studied me.
“Why?”
“Because every time it flashed, your body reacted.”
Caleb Mercer stepped between us.
“Sir, you're confused. You need to lie down.”
Dominic didn't look at him.
“Move, Caleb.”
“Your condition—”
“I said move.”
Mercer stepped aside.
For the first time since I'd entered the mansion, I saw something unfamiliar on the security chief's face.
Fear.
Dominic lowered himself into a chair.
His hands were still trembling.
“Explain the light.”
I pointed toward the courtyard.
“That floodlight wasn't flickering randomly. It was flashing in a repeated sequence. Someone programmed it.”
Mercer shook his head.
“Faulty equipment. That's why she was hired.”
I turned toward him.
“Funny. I was hired to repair the west-wing outlets. Nobody mentioned that floodlight.”
Dominic looked up sharply.
“Who requested the repair?”
“Your office.”
“Specifically?”
“Mr. Mercer.”
Silence.
Mercer's expression hardened.
“I supervise maintenance.”
“Then you should know the difference between a damaged circuit and a programmed controller.”
I pulled a small black notebook from my tool belt.
For fourteen years, I'd recorded every unusual electrical problem I encountered.
My father had taught me that habit.
When something doesn't make sense, Penny, write down what you actually saw. Not what someone tells you happened.
I opened the notebook.
“At 12:41, the courtyard light flashed six times. At 12:48, it flashed again. At 12:56, the sequence repeated.”
Dominic gripped the armrest.
“And at 1:02?”
“That was when I heard you fall.”
His face changed.
He looked toward Mercer.
“Caleb. You told me these attacks happened without warning.”
“They do.”
“You told me the doctors couldn't identify a trigger.”
“They couldn't.”
“And you told me nobody should enter my bedroom because interfering could make things worse.”
Mercer glanced at the guards.
“That's what your medical team advised.”
I couldn't keep quiet.
“Whatever advice you were given, leaving someone convulsing alone behind a locked door is dangerous. He needs a doctor, not armed men protecting a hallway.”
Dominic looked toward the taller guard.
“Call Dr. Bennett. Now.”
The guard hesitated.
Mercer raised one hand.
“Sir, your physician isn't available after midnight.”
Dominic's expression turned frighteningly calm.
“Then call an ambulance.”
Nobody moved.
That was when I understood something worse than what I'd seen upstairs.
They weren't simply afraid of disobeying orders.
They were waiting for Mercer to give them permission.
Dominic noticed, too.
He slowly stood.
“If I have to ask again, every man in this room is fired.”
The taller guard finally reached for his radio.
Mercer didn't stop him.
But he watched me.
And I knew that look.
I'd seen it from contractors who discovered I had photographed their illegal wiring.
He wasn't wondering whether I was right.
He was calculating how much I'd already noticed.
Twenty minutes later, Dominic's physician arrived, followed by two paramedics.
Dr. Samuel Bennett was a silver-haired man in his early sixties.
He examined Dominic, checked his breathing, and asked about the episode.
When I mentioned the flashing light, his expression tightened.
“Repeated flashing can provoke seizures in susceptible individuals,” he said. “But that doesn't establish the cause of your condition, Dominic. You need proper neurological evaluation.”
“Then why didn't anyone investigate the courtyard light?” Dominic asked.
The doctor frowned.
“What courtyard light?”
I stared at him.
Mercer answered before I could.
“It was installed three years ago.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“My episodes started four years ago.”
For one brief moment, I wondered whether I'd misunderstood everything.
Then Dr. Bennett spoke.
“Mr. Moretti, I was told your episodes began after a head injury.”
Dominic went rigid.
“What head injury?”
The doctor looked toward Mercer.
Mercer didn't answer.
Dr. Bennett slowly lowered his medical bag.
“Caleb told me you were injured during an attempted robbery. Four years ago. He said you had severe headaches afterward.”
Dominic's voice dropped.
“I've never been injured in a robbery.”
The room felt suddenly smaller.
Mercer cleared his throat.
“You may not remember everything from that period.”
Dominic stared at him.
“You're telling my doctor what happened to me?”
“I'm trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
Mercer looked away.
And that single movement told me more than his explanations.
The doctor insisted Dominic be transported for evaluation.
Dominic refused to leave until the guards surrendered their weapons and Mercer was removed from the bedroom.
Then he turned toward me.
“Miss Hodge, you're coming with us.”
I shook my head.
“I'm an electrician, Mr. Moretti. Not part of your security team.”
“You noticed something they didn't.”
“Then hire better security.”
A faint expression crossed his exhausted face.
It might have been amusement.
It disappeared when he noticed my hand.
“You're bleeding.”
“I've had worse.”
“That's not an answer.”
He handed me a clean towel from his bedside table.
“Please.”
Something about that word surprised me.
Men like Dominic Moretti weren't famous for saying please.
I wrapped the towel around my palm.
Then I noticed a silver wristwatch lying beside his bed.
Its crystal was cracked.
Its hands had stopped at 1:02.
I frowned.
“Did your watch stop during the seizure?”
Dominic followed my gaze.
“No. That hasn't worked in four years.”
“Why keep it?”
His expression softened.
“My younger brother gave it to me.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
The room went quiet.
Dominic picked up the watch.
“Anthony died the night my seizures began.”
Mercer suddenly stepped forward.
“Sir, we shouldn't discuss that.”
Dominic's eyes hardened.
“Why not?”
“Because you know what remembering that night does to you.”
I watched Dominic's fingers tighten around the watch.
Then something occurred to me.
“May I see it?”
He handed it over.
It was an old stainless-steel chronograph, worn at the edges.
There were tiny scratches along the clasp.
And engraved beneath the face were four words.
KEEP THE LIGHT ON.
I looked up.
“Your brother wrote this?”
Dominic nodded.
“He used to say it when we were kids. Our mother worked nights. Anthony hated sleeping in the dark.”
I turned the watch over.
The back plate sat slightly crooked.
Someone had opened it recently.
I knew because a fine scratch crossed one of the screws.
The exposed metal was bright.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said carefully, “who has access to this watch?”
Dominic looked toward Mercer.
“My security chief keeps my valuables locked away whenever I'm hospitalized.”
Mercer's face drained of color.
“Dominic, give me the watch.”
I stepped backward.
“Why?”
“Because it's private property.”
“Then let its owner decide.”
Dominic held out his hand.
“Penny.”
I placed the watch in his palm.
He pressed the loose back plate with his thumb.
It shifted.
Something small slipped onto the carpet.
A folded piece of yellowed paper.
Dominic bent to retrieve it.
Mercer moved faster.
“Don't!”
But Dominic had already opened the note.
Three sentences were written in dark blue ink.
The first two were nearly illegible.
The last was unmistakable.
DOMINIC, IF THE LIGHT STARTS FLASHING, DON'T TRUST CALEB.
Dominic stared at those words.
Then he looked at the man who had protected him for eighteen years.
May you like
And asked a question that made Mercer's knees visibly weaken.
“Caleb, why was my dead brother afraid of you?”
