Chapter 6 - THE SECRET INSIDE THE LULLABY
I reached Oliver before anyone else.
He was standing in Serena’s old bedroom.
Emma was beside him.
The room had been locked for two years.
“Who opened this?”
Oliver pointed toward the wall.
A section of paneling stood open.
Behind it was a small compartment.
Empty.
Julian entered.
“What was inside?”
Oliver was crying.
“Box.”
“What box?”
“Mommy’s.”
Emma crouched beside him.
“Who took it?”
He shook his head.
“I saw.”
“Saw who?”
He looked toward the doorway.
Vincent stood there.
Julian stood beside him.
Three guards were behind them.
Oliver pointed.
At one of the guards.
Daniel Mercer.
My head of residential security.
Daniel ran.
Vincent tackled him before he made the stairs.
I dragged him back into the bedroom.
“Where’s the box?”
Daniel laughed.
That was a mistake.
I pressed him against the wall.
“Where?”
“You’re too late.”
Vincent searched him.
He found a small transmitter.
Julian looked at it.
“Tracking beacon.”
Daniel smiled.
“They know where we are.”
“This is my house.”
“Not anymore.”
The first explosion shattered the east windows.
Emma threw herself over Oliver.
The mansion alarm screamed.
A second blast hit the gate.
Vincent shouted orders.
Gunfire erupted outside.
The Consortium had decided secrecy no longer mattered.
I grabbed Daniel.
“Where is the box?”
He grinned.
“On its way to the man who owns you.”
I hit him once.
“Name.”
“You still don’t understand.”
Another explosion shook the house.
Julian pulled me away.
“We need to move.”
There was an old armored tunnel beneath the west wing leading to a boathouse on the lake.
My father had built it for exactly this kind of night.
We escaped through it while Vincent’s men held the estate.
Emma carried Oliver.
I watched her ahead of me.
She never complained.
Never panicked.
Never asked what would happen to her.
Every thought she had seemed to be about my son.
At the boathouse, Julian started the motor.
We crossed the black water toward a safe property on the opposite shore.
Behind us, flames climbed from one wing of my home.
Oliver watched silently.
I sat beside him.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked at me.
“For what?”
Another full sentence.
My throat tightened.
“For everything.”
He leaned against me.
I put my arm around him.
Emma sat across from us.
Our eyes met.
Something changed.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Trust.
Fragile.
Unwanted.
But real.
At the safe house, we finally examined what we knew.
The box was gone.
The book was gone.
But we still had Oliver.
I hated thinking of him as evidence.
Emma hated it more.
“We are not interrogating him,” she said.
“No one said interrogate.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Being right.”
For the first time that night, she almost smiled.
Oliver sat at the piano.
He pressed one key.
Then another.
Emma walked over.
“Want the song?”
He nodded.
She began playing Serena’s lullaby.
I listened carefully.
The melody had always seemed simple.
But Julian suddenly stood.
“Again.”
Emma replayed it.
He wrote down the notes.
C.
A.
F.
E.
Pause.
Nine.
Three.
One.
Vincent leaned over his shoulder.
“CAFE 931?”
Emma stopped playing.
“I know that.”
“What?”
“Serena and I met at a café in Milwaukee. Table nine, booth three, one o’clock.”
Julian shook his head.
“Too specific.”
Emma thought.
Then her eyes widened.
“Locker.”
“What locker?”
“The train station across from the café had luggage lockers.”
We drove to Milwaukee before dawn.
Locker 931 still existed in an older section of the station.
Inside was a single envelope.
Emma opened it.
A letter.
For her.
She read silently, tears forming.
“What does it say?” I asked.
She handed it to me.
Serena’s words:
Emma, if you are reading this, then Oliver remembered the song. That means Preston finally listened.
That sentence hurt.
I continued.
The ledger is not one book. Father separated the evidence into three pieces. The financial records are hidden where Preston first asked me to dance. The names are inside Oliver’s story. The final proof is with the person I trusted to betray me.
I stopped.
“The person she trusted to betray her?”
Julian frowned.
“That makes no sense.”
Emma took the letter.
There was more.
Do not hate Preston. He will hate himself enough for both of you. Tell him I knew he loved us. Tell him love was never his weakness. Fear was.
I looked away.
Emma touched my arm.
I didn’t move.
Oliver suddenly pointed to the bottom of the page.
“There.”
Tiny letters had been written beneath Serena’s signature.
Three words.
Ask about Evelyn.
“Who’s Evelyn?” Emma asked.
I knew.
I wished I didn’t.
“My mother.”
Julian went pale.
Our mother had supposedly died when we were children.
A boating accident.
No body had ever been recovered.
Emma whispered, “Preston?”
I stared at Serena’s message.
Ask about Evelyn.
Then the station loudspeaker crackled.
A woman’s voice came through.
Not an announcement.
My name.
“Preston Hale.”
Everyone froze.
The voice continued.
“If you want to know why Serena died, come to Platform Six.”
Julian whispered, “That’s impossible.”
I knew exactly what he meant.
Because although I had not heard that voice in thirty years—
May you like
I remembered it.
My mother was waiting on the platform.
