The Silent Heir and the Maid Who Unmasked the DeLuca Family Conspiracy
She was talking about Leo, a three-year-old child.
“I have to go,” Mrs. Higgins said.
“The nanny is probably looking for him.”
She clicked the phone off and shoved it into her pocket.
I heard her sharp footsteps move back toward the bedroom door.
The door opened, then clicked shut.
I waited in the dark, counting to sixty.
My hands were shaking.
I pushed the wardrobe doors open and stepped out into the cold room.
The air felt thin, but I didn’t have time to catch my breath.
I turned back to the wardrobe and pushed the loose wooden panel aside again.
The blue light of the digital safe stared back at me.
I reached out with a trembling finger and pressed the numbers from the note.
1-0-2-4-0-9.
A soft beep echoed in the quiet room.
Then, a heavy mechanical click.
The safe door swung open.
Inside lay a thick leather ledger and a stack of letters tied with a black silk ribbon.
I pulled the letters out first.
The top envelope was made of the same cream-colored cardstock as the note in my hand.