Chapter 2 - SOMEBODY WANTED THE HOUSE TO BREATHE POISONGrant spent the next seven hours beside Eli’s hospital bed.
Massachusetts General had placed the baby in a private pediatric intensive-care room under security. Doctors moved in and out while machines quietly tracked every heartbeat.
At 5:43 a.m., Dr. Shah entered.
Grant stood immediately.
“Tell me.”
She closed the door behind her.
“He’s stable.”
Grant released a breath he felt he had been holding since midnight.
“Stable?”
“Yes.”
“Permanent damage?”
“We don’t see evidence of that right now.”
Grant lowered himself into the chair.
For the first time that night, his hands began shaking.
Dr. Shah waited.
“Carbon monoxide exposure?” he asked.
“That’s the leading explanation.”
Grant looked at Eli.
“How?”
“That’s what investigators are trying to determine.”
She hesitated.
“But Sofia may have saved crucial minutes.”
Grant looked up.
“How crucial?”
Dr. Shah chose her words carefully.
“Very.”
Grant stared through the glass wall toward the security officer outside.
Seven hours earlier, Sofia Reyes had been nothing more than the new maid whose name he sometimes forgot.
Now his son was alive because she had refused to leave the room when people more powerful than her told her to disappear.
Grant stood.
“Where is she?”
“Police are questioning household staff downstairs.”
Grant frowned.
“Questioning?”
“They’re questioning everyone.”
Grant kissed Eli’s forehead and walked out.
The conference room two floors below had become a temporary command center.
Two detectives sat across from Sofia.
Detective Evelyn Hart, a gray-eyed woman in her forties, was speaking when Grant entered.
“Mr. Mercer.”
Grant shut the door.
“What’s happening?”
Hart exchanged a look with her partner.
“Routine interviews.”
“Then why does Sofia look like a suspect?”
Sofia sat very still.
The answer came from another corner.
“Because she may be.”
Peter Voss stood near the window.
Grant frowned.
Peter had been Grant’s cousin, closest adviser, and CFO for almost fifteen years.
“What are you talking about?”
Peter handed him a tablet.
“Security logs.”
Grant read the screen.
Employee access.
Basement mechanical room.
2:11 a.m.
Credential: S. REYES.
Grant slowly looked at Sofia.
She seemed shocked rather than frightened.
“That’s impossible.”
Hart watched her carefully.
“Your badge entered the mechanical room at 2:11 this morning.”
“I was asleep.”
“Where?”
“Staff quarters.”
“Anyone see you?”
Sofia shook her head.
“My roommate is visiting her mother.”
Peter folded his arms.
“And exactly eight hours later, the heating system begins feeding exhaust into the nursery.”
Sofia stood.
“I didn’t do that.”
“Sofia,” Grant said quietly.
She turned toward him.
Whatever she saw in his face hurt her more than Peter’s accusation.
“You believe him?”
“I’m trying to understand.”
“You think I poisoned Eli and then saved him?”
Peter answered before Grant could.
“People create emergencies for all kinds of reasons.”
Sofia stared at him.
“What reason would I have?”
“Attention.”
Her expression hardened.
“You think I nearly killed a baby because I wanted attention?”
Hart raised a hand.
“Everyone sit down.”
Grant’s phone rang.
Estate security.
He answered.
“Mercer.”
“Sir, investigators found something.”
“What?”
“A bypass valve inside the main return system.”
Grant looked toward Hart.
“Go on.”
“It appears somebody redirected combustion exhaust from a service shaft directly into the east-wing ventilation.”
The east wing.
Eli’s nursery.
Grant gripped the phone.
“Accidental?”
“No, sir.”
Silence settled over the room.
Grant ended the call.
Hart stood.
“We’re going back to the estate.”
Peter pointed toward Sofia.
“She should stay here.”
Hart looked at him.
“She’s not under arrest.”
Peter’s mouth tightened.
Grant noticed.
An hour later they entered the basement of Mercer House wearing protective monitors supplied by the fire department.
The storm had passed, leaving the estate eerily quiet.
A fire investigator showed them the heating system.
“This damper was manually repositioned.”
Hart crouched beside it.
“Could household staff access this?”
“Only maintenance and anyone with the service-room key.”
Peter glanced at Sofia.
“Or an employee badge.”
Sofia said nothing.
The investigator continued.
“Whoever did this understood the system.”
Grant turned to Sofia.
“You understood what was happening upstairs.”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand systems like this?”
“My father did.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Sofia met his gaze.
“He taught me basics.”
Peter exhaled sharply.
“There it is.”
Sofia spun around.
“You really want this to be me.”
“I want Grant’s son protected.”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“You want everyone to stop looking as soon as they find someone convenient.”
Hart noticed the exchange.
“So do I,” she said.
Peter’s face stiffened.
The detective walked toward the security terminal.
“Show me surveillance footage from two a.m.”
Owen Rusk, Grant’s head of private security, typed several commands.
A hallway appeared.
2:08 a.m.
Empty.
2:10.
A figure entered the basement corridor.
Black pants.
Gray sweatshirt.
Face hidden beneath a hood.
2:11.
The figure held something against the scanner.
The door opened.
Sofia’s badge.
Peter pointed.
“There.”
“Zoom in,” Hart said.
Owen did.
The image pixelated.
The person was taller than Sofia.
Much taller.
Grant stepped closer.
“That isn’t her.”
Peter’s expression changed.
Hart looked at Sofia.
“When did you last have your badge?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“Where?”
“Laundry station.”
“Did you leave it unattended?”
Sofia thought.
“For twenty minutes.”
Hart turned to Owen.
“Who had access to that area?”
“Most household employees.”
“Give me names.”
Owen hesitated.
“All of them.”
Grant looked again at the screen.
Someone had stolen Sofia’s credentials.
Someone had deliberately routed poison toward Eli’s room.
And someone had clearly expected investigators to blame the maid.
Hart rewound the recording.
The figure crossed beneath another camera.
For less than a second, something became visible below the sweatshirt sleeve.
A watch.
Grant moved closer.
Silver case.
Dark blue strap.
Distinctive clasp.
He knew that watch.
Or thought he did.
Hart froze the image.
Grant stared.
Then Peter suddenly stepped between him and the monitor.
“This is getting ridiculous.”
Hart looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because you’re treating a blurry video like evidence.”
Nobody responded.
Hart’s eyes dropped.
To Peter’s left wrist.
It was bare.
She smiled slightly.
“Mr. Voss?”
Peter stopped.
“Where’s your watch?”
Peter stared at her.
Then answered.
“At home.”
May you like
Detective Hart’s smile disappeared.
“I think we should see it.”
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