Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Estate
Three days passed, but the chill in my mind did not leave.
By day, I ran the syndicate with my usual ruthless efficiency, closing dock deals in the port of Chicago and managing our financial portfolios. By night, I sat in my private study on the third floor of the Lake Forest estate, staring at security monitors, autopsy reports, and architectural blueprints of the house.
The estate had been built in 1924 by a disgraced shipping tycoon who vanished under mysterious circumstances. I had bought it five years ago, gutting the interior, installing state-of-the-art biometrics, bulletproof glass, and thermal-imaging cameras. Nothing entered this house without my knowledge.
Yet, on that Tuesday night, none of my technology had registered a single anomaly. The sensors had detected no gas leaks, no ultrasonic frequencies, no intruder signals.
There was only Sophie.
A knock sounded at my heavy oak study door.
"Enter," I said, not looking up from the manifest on my desk.
The door creaked open, and Elena stepped inside, carrying a silver tray with a cup of black coffee and a stack of household receipts. Her expression was hesitant, her posture slightly rigid.
"Mr. Moretti," she began softly. "I... I wanted to apologize again for Sophie wandering up to the nursery the other night. It won't happen again. I’ve locked the stairwell door."
I looked up, locking my dark eyes onto hers. Elena was a good woman—efficient, discreet, and fiercely loyal. She had worked for me for two years, ever since her husband passed away. But there was something about her and her daughter that I had never probed deeply into. In my world, curiosity was a liability. But tonight, I needed answers.
"Elena," I said, leaning back in my leather chair, steepling my fingers. "Tell me about your daughter. Where did she get that doll?"
Elena blinked, surprised by the question. She shifted the tray slightly in her hands. "It... it was her grandmother's. Hand-stitched in Ireland before they immigrated. Sophie takes it everywhere. She calls it her protector."
"A protector?" I scoffed quietly, though the memory of the nursery made the word stick in my throat. "My children were screaming in agony, Elena. Medical science failed. Security failed. My millions of dollars failed. And your four-year-old daughter walked in with a rag doll and cured them in thirty seconds."
Elena’s face paled. She looked down at the floor. "Mr. Moretti... you don't believe in things like that. You’re a practical man. A powerful man."
"I am a man who deals in facts," I replied, standing up and walking slowly around the desk. "And the fact is, something entered my home that my cameras couldn't see. And your daughter knew it was there."
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Before Elena could answer, a shrill, piercing shriek echoed through the intercom on my desk. It was the nursery monitor.
Theo was screaming again.
