Chapter 3 - THE MESSAGE FROM A DEAD WOMANPeter Voss did produce the watch.
Three hours later.
It was sitting inside a velvet-lined drawer in his Boston apartment.
Same manufacturer.
Same silver case.
But the strap was black.
Not blue.
“You see?” Peter said. “A coincidence.”
Detective Hart photographed it.
Grant said nothing.
Peter turned toward him.
“You know me.”
That was exactly the problem.
Grant did know him.
Peter had been beside him when Mercer Global almost collapsed during the recession.
Peter had negotiated contracts, buried scandals, fought hostile takeovers, and stood beside Grant at his father’s funeral.
When Grant’s wife, Katherine, died five months earlier, Peter practically moved into Mercer House.
He organized the memorial.
Handled reporters.
Managed the company.
Sat beside Grant during the worst nights of his life.
And now Grant could not stop seeing the hooded man on the basement camera.
“You should go home,” Peter told him.
“My son is in intensive care.”
“Exactly.”
Peter lowered his voice.
“Let police handle this.”
Grant studied him.
“Why were you at my house last night?”
Peter blinked.
“I wasn’t.”
“Owen said you arrived at ten.”
“For dinner.”
“You told police you left at midnight.”
“I did.”
“Then why did the gate system record your car returning at 1:46?”
Peter paused.
Just slightly.
“My driver must have come back.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
Grant stepped closer.
“You don’t know?”
Peter’s expression hardened.
“Be careful.”
Grant almost laughed.
“My six-month-old son was poisoned inside his nursery and you’re telling me to be careful?”
“I’m telling you grief can make people irrational.”
Something cold moved through Grant.
“You said the same thing after Katherine died.”
Peter’s face changed.
Only for a second.
But Grant saw it.
That afternoon, Grant returned to Eli’s hospital room.
Sofia was sitting outside.
“You’re still here?”
She looked up.
“I wanted to know if he was okay.”
“He is.”
Sofia smiled.
It was the first real smile Grant had seen from her.
“Good.”
Grant sat beside her.
“Why did you know about the soot?”
Sofia looked at her hands.
“My father died when I was seventeen.”
Grant waited.
“He repaired furnaces.”
She swallowed.
“One winter he was called to an apartment building. A vent had been installed wrong. He went into the basement alone.”
Grant understood before she finished.
“They found him three hours later.”
“I learned everything afterward. Backdrafting. Blocked flues. Carbon monoxide. All the things people ignore because they can’t see the danger.”
She looked toward Eli’s room.
“When I saw the soot and those people holding their heads…”
Grant nodded.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“You saved him.”
Sofia shook her head.
“The doctors saved him.”
“You got him out of that room.”
She didn’t answer.
Grant watched her.
“Why were you hired?”
“Your house needed staff.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Sofia frowned.
Grant leaned forward.
“You’re smart. Observant. You obviously learned more than cleaning rooms.”
“My mother got sick three years ago. I left nursing school to help her.”
“Is she—”
“She died last spring.”
Grant looked away.
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Sofia reached into her bag.
“There’s something else.”
She handed him a folded piece of paper.
Grant opened it.
A list.
Dates.
Times.
“He’s been getting sick longer than last night,” Sofia said.
“What?”
“Eli.”
She pointed.
“October third. He slept almost fourteen hours. October seventh, he threw up twice. October ninth, he cried whenever someone carried him into the nursery.”
Grant stared at the dates.
“You kept records?”
“I keep household notes. Feeding times. Laundry. Medication reminders.”
She tapped another entry.
“Every episode happened after the fireplace was used.”
Grant looked at her.
His pulse quickened.
“This wasn’t one attack.”
“No.”
Her voice dropped.
“I think somebody was testing how much exposure it took.”
Grant felt sick.
He called Hart.
Within two hours the detective had obtained archived nursery monitor data.
The results were worse than Sofia suspected.
Eli’s wearable monitor showed unexplained drops in oxygen levels on four separate nights.
All four coincided with heating-system overrides.
Someone had been poisoning the nursery gradually.
Last night had simply been the first attempt strong enough to nearly kill him.
Grant drove directly home.
He entered Katherine’s study for the first time since her death.
Nothing had changed.
Her reading glasses still rested beside an unfinished novel.
A pale green scarf hung over the chair.
A photograph showed Katherine holding newborn Eli.
Grant stared at it too long.
“You knew something,” he whispered.
He began opening drawers.
Nothing.
He searched files.
Nothing.
Then he remembered something Katherine once said.
“If you ever want to hide something from a billionaire, put it somewhere boring.”
Grant looked around.
Her cookbooks.
Katherine hated cooking.
He pulled them down.
Inside one book was an envelope.
His name was written across it.
GRANT.
His hands stopped.
He opened it.
Inside was a single page.
Katherine’s handwriting.
Grant read the first line.
Then read it again.
If you are reading this, something happened to me before I could prove what I found.
His heart began pounding.
The next lines were worse.
Peter has been moving money through Mercer charitable accounts. I confronted him. He denied everything.
Grant sat down.
The final sentence made the room feel suddenly cold.
If anything happens to me or Eli, do not trust Peter.
Grant’s phone rang.
Detective Hart.
He answered without taking his eyes from the letter.
“We found something else,” she said.
“What?”
“The blue watch strap from the surveillance footage.”
Grant stood.
“Where?”
Hart paused.
“Inside Katherine’s old garage locker.”
Grant frowned.
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“Who found it?”
“Your security chief.”
Grant froze.
“Owen?”
“Yes.”
Grant looked through the study window toward the security building.
Hart continued.
“And Grant?”
“What?”
“The locker was opened yesterday.”
His grip tightened around the phone.
“By whose badge?”
Silence.
May you like
Then Hart answered.
“Peter Voss.”
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