396 "Behind the Gilded Gates: A Desperate Nanny, a Ruthless Mastermind, and the Dark Secret That Brought a Billion-Dollar Estate to Its Knees"

The downstairs hallway was cloaked in heavy twilight shadows, the tall stained-glass windows casting long, prismatic streaks of purple and crimson across the polished oak floors. Every creak of the old wood beneath my sneakers sounded like a gunshot in the cavernous silence. I kept close to the wall, hugging the shadows as I approached the heavy double doors of the library.

The door was ajar, a thin sliver of warm amber light spilling out onto the hallway floor.

My breath caught in my throat. Had Marcus come back down? Was he already inside?

I crept closer, pressing my back against the carved mahogany doorframe, and peered cautiously into the room. The library was vast, lined with towering floor-to-ceiling bookshelves laden with leather-bound volumes. In the center of the room sat a massive, antique mahogany executive desk, its surface gleaming under the pool of light cast by a heavy brass banker's lamp.

The room was empty.

I exhaled a shaky breath, slipped inside, and hurried across the plush Persian rug toward the desk. The antique chair was pushed back slightly, as if someone had just stood up in a hurry. I knelt down in front of the kneehole of the desk, my eyes scanning the mahogany panels.

The bottom drawer on the left side was fitted with an ornate brass handle. I grabbed it and pulled.

It was locked.

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, my hands shaking as I frantically searched the desktop above for a key. Pens, a leather blotter, a stack of unopened mail, a crystal paperweight. Nothing.

I dropped back down to my knees and examined the side of the drawer track. The mysterious voice had mentioned a false panel. I ran my fingertips along the smooth wood inside the kneehole, feeling the grain, pressing gently against the vertical divider.

Click.

A small wooden section of the inner wall gave way under my thumb, springing inward with a soft pneumatic hiss. My breath hitched. I reached inside the dark, narrow cavity hidden behind the divider and felt around blindly.

My fingers brushed against something small, cold, and metallic.

I pulled it out into the dim light of the library. It was a small black USB flash drive, along with a folded square of heavy cardstock paper. My hands trembling violently, I unfolded the paper and held it up to the desk lamp.

Written in neat, precise, frantic handwriting were three lines of text:

If you are reading this, I am already gone. Do not trust Marcus. The accident wasn't Victoria's fault. Check the medical examiner's supplemental report from October 14th.

The words spun before my eyes. October 14th. That was the date six months ago when the previous nanny, a twenty-one-year-old college student named Chloe Sullivan, had allegedly fallen from the third-story balcony and died instantly. The official police report had ruled it an accidental fall caused by a psychotic break brought on by sleep deprivation.

A cold wave of nausea washed over me. Chloe hadn't fallen. She had uncovered whatever secret was stored on this flash drive, and Marcus had silenced her.

Suddenly, a loud, heavy thud echoed from the foyer outside the library doors.

"Elena?"

Marcus’s voice boomed through the high-ceilinged hallway, sharp and piercing, cutting straight through the heavy silence of the estate.