Chapter 3 - THE AUNT WHO WANTED CONTROL
Camille Laurent had lied to me for eighteen months.
We discovered the first lie before sunrise.
My wife had not asked Camille to help raise our children.
Camille had repeatedly claimed Isabelle made her promise that if anything happened during childbirth, she would “guide Adrien.”
There was no such promise.
Isabelle’s attorney found the sealed letter she had written before her final surgery.
I read it alone.
Adrien,
If you are reading this, then our babies arrived without me.
Do not let grief turn you into stone.
Hold them.
Talk to them.
Let them know you are their father before they understand what your name means.
And please be careful with Camille.
I love my sister, but she has always confused being needed with being loved.
Do not let her decide she is their mother.
My hands tightened around the page.
Isabelle had known.
Maybe not what Camille would become.
But enough to warn me.
By seven in the morning, Marco had pulled every security file associated with Camille.
She had arrived at the estate twenty-three days after Isabelle’s funeral.
She never truly left.
She maintained a Manhattan apartment, but she spent four or five nights each week under my roof.
And everywhere she went, she created conflict.
Nannies resigned.
A nurse was dismissed.
Two housekeepers requested transfers.
Each time, Camille told me they were incompetent.
I had believed her.
Elena had been the exception.
She stayed.
Perhaps because unlike the others, she desperately needed the job.
I found her in the kitchen making oatmeal for Sophie while my children slept upstairs.
She looked exhausted.
“You should rest,” I said.
She nearly dropped the spoon.
I had entered without making noise.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Adrien.”
She stared.
“What?”
“In my house, after what your daughter did for my children, you can call me Adrien.”
“That feels inappropriate.”
“I have survived worse.”
A tiny smile appeared.
Then vanished.
“Sophie barely slept.”
“Neither did mine.”
I sat across from her.
She looked uncomfortable.
Employees did not usually sit with me.
“Tell me about Camille.”
Elena’s hand stopped.
“What do you want to know?”
“What you were afraid to tell me before.”
Her eyes lifted slowly.
“You knew?”
“I know fear when I see it.”
She looked toward the hallway.
“Ms. Laurent doesn’t like me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not true.”
Elena sighed.
“She once found Sophie playing with Nora.”
“And?”
“She said children like Sophie should know their place.”
My jaw tightened.
“What place?”
“She didn’t explain.”
“She didn’t need to.”
Elena looked down.
“I almost quit.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because rent doesn’t care about dignity.”
That sentence landed harder than she intended.
I knew almost nothing about Elena outside this house.
She arrived at seven.
Worked until four.
Sometimes later.
Sophie stayed in the staff sitting room after preschool because Elena could not afford full-time childcare.
Nobody had complained because Sophie was quiet.
Invisible.
The perfect child for a house where adults wanted servants to remain invisible too.
“What happened after Camille spoke to you?”
“Mrs. Alvarez heard.”
My senior housekeeper.
“She defended me.”
“And?”
“Ms. Laurent stopped speaking openly around me.”
“But not targeting you.”
Elena looked at me.
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“What else?”
She hesitated so long I knew the answer mattered.
“Two weeks ago, I found Sophie crying in the pantry.”
“Why?”
“She said Ms. Laurent took a picture of her.”
My chest tightened.
“The photographs Marco found.”
“Maybe.”
“Why didn’t you report it?”
“I asked Camille.”
“And?”
“She laughed.”
Elena’s voice hardened slightly.
“She said Sophie had wandered into the background while she was photographing flowers.”
“You believed her?”
“No.”
“But you said nothing to me.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You barely looked at me before last night.”
The honesty surprised both of us.
Then Elena looked embarrassed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She was right.
I knew her name.
I knew she was reliable.
I knew Sophie sometimes waited downstairs.
That was the extent of it.
I had built an empire based on knowing everything happening around me while remaining almost entirely blind to the people inside my own home.
Marco entered.
“We got something.”
I stood.
“What?”
“Camille used a burner phone.”
“Located?”
“Not yet. But we accessed the device backup.”
He handed me a tablet.
Messages filled the screen.
Unknown recipient.
CAMILLE: THE EMITTERS ARE WORKING. A THINKS THEY HAVE COLIC.
UNKNOWN: CONTINUE. EXHAUSTION MAKES PEOPLE EASIER TO DIRECT.
CAMILLE: HE STILL WON’T SIGN GUARDIANSHIP DOCUMENTS.
My blood cooled.
“What guardianship documents?”
Marco swiped.
A legal draft appeared.
If I died or became incapacitated, temporary custody of Theo, Miles, and Nora would pass to Camille Laurent.
I had rejected that document three months earlier.
My attorney had recommended my younger brother Matteo instead.
Camille had been furious.
The next message was worse.
CAMILLE: HE TRUSTS HIS SECURITY TOO MUCH.
UNKNOWN: THEN MAKE HIM STOP TRUSTING HIMSELF.
CAMILLE: THE CHILDREN ARE THE FASTEST WAY.
I stared at the words.
The emitters were not simply about hurting my children.
They were meant to exhaust me.
Keep me awake.
Make me doubt doctors.
Nannies.
My own judgment.
Then Camille would become the helpful aunt who knew how to calm them.
Except something had gone wrong.
“Why were the babies quiet with Sophie?” I asked.
Marco considered it.
“Maybe because the portable emitter inside the doll interfered with the crib units when it moved close enough.”
“So Sophie accidentally disrupted the signal.”
“Possibly.”
“Then why did Camille put one inside Sophie’s doll?”
Marco looked at Elena.
“We don’t know.”
Elena went pale.
I understood.
“It wasn’t meant for the triplets.”
Marco nodded.
“It may have been meant for Sophie.”
The kitchen became silent.
Elena pushed her chair back.
“What would it do to her?”
“The frequency causes distress, nausea, headaches, anxiety. Long exposure could be worse depending on intensity.”
Elena’s face drained.
“She has been complaining her head hurts.”
“For how long?”
“Since yesterday.”
I picked up the phone.
“My doctor checks her now.”
“Adrien, we can go to a hospital.”
“No.”
She stiffened.
I corrected myself.
“You can go anywhere you choose. But my medical team is already here and the estate is secure. Let them examine her immediately.”
Elena studied me.
Then nodded.
Sophie’s examination found mild dehydration and a headache.
Nothing permanent.
The relief on Elena’s face nearly brought me to my knees.
Then Marco received another message.
He handed me the tablet.
A photograph had been sent to my private number.
It showed Camille standing beside a man outside a motel.
I recognized him.
Dr. Franklin Pierce.
The pediatric specialist who had examined my children the previous night.
The same man who told me there was absolutely no environmental cause for their distress.
My rage sharpened.
“He knew.”
Marco nodded.
A text appeared beneath the photograph.
ASK THE DOCTOR WHY THE BABIES’ BLOOD TESTS DISAPPEARED.
“Who sent this?”
“Anonymous.”
I looked at him.
“Find Pierce.”
His team reached the doctor’s apartment thirty minutes later.
Empty.
His phone abandoned.
His car gone.
But they found documents.
Wire transfers from an offshore company.
Payments totaling $460,000.
All beginning one month before my wife died.
I stared at the dates.
“Before Isabelle?”
Marco did not answer.
He did not need to.
Something inside me cracked.
Until that moment, I had believed Camille’s plan began after my wife’s death.
Now I knew better.
I found Isabelle’s medical file.
Her delivery had been catastrophic.
Unexpected hemorrhaging.
Cardiac complications.
The hospital called it tragic but unavoidable.
Dr. Franklin Pierce had not delivered the triplets.
But he had consulted on Isabelle’s medication during the final weeks of her pregnancy.
My hands began shaking.
“What did he prescribe?”
Marco’s face changed.
“A blood thinner.”
“Why?”
“Supposedly because she had elevated clotting risk.”
“Did she?”
“We need another doctor to review it.”
I stood.
“Get one.”
Within an hour, a maternal-fetal medicine specialist reviewed the records.
Then a second.
Their conclusion was cautious.
But devastating.
The dosage Isabelle had received during the final forty-eight hours before delivery had been unusually high.
Dangerously high.
Potentially enough to worsen hemorrhaging.
I could barely breathe.
Camille had wanted control of my children.
Pierce had been receiving money before Isabelle died.
And my wife had warned me about her sister.
I looked toward the nursery camera.
Theo slept holding Miles’s sleeve.
Nora lay between them.
Three children whose mother might not have died by accident.
Marco’s voice was quiet.
“Boss.”
I looked at him.
“We found Pierce.”
“Where?”
“He just used his passport.”
My eyes hardened.
“Airport?”
“No.”
Marco turned the tablet.
“Private marina.”
A boat had left thirty minutes earlier.
Registered to Camille Laurent.
I walked toward the door.
“Prepare mine.”
“Adrien.”
“I’m going.”
Elena stood in the hallway.
She had heard enough.
“You can’t leave your children again.”
I stopped.
Her voice shook, but she did not back down.
“They almost lost their mother. They need their father alive.”
For a second, anger rose.
Then disappeared.
Because she was right again.
I hated how often the quiet maid saw what everyone else missed.
I turned to Marco.
“Bring Pierce back.”
He nodded.
“And Camille?”
“Alive.”
My gaze returned to Isabelle’s medical records.
“Because I want her to hear exactly what she did to my family when we put her in front of a judge.”
But by sunset, Marco called with worse news.
Pierce’s boat had been found drifting.
Blood on the deck.
No doctor.
No Camille.
And carved into the wooden console were five words.
STOP LOOKING INTO ISABELLE’S DEATH.
May you like
Someone wanted the past buried.
Which meant Camille was no longer the only person I needed to find.
