Chapter 2 - Three Million Dollars and No AnswerVincent Moretti did not appreciate being summoned inside his own house.
Claire learned that at 1:17 that afternoon.
He entered the upstairs hallway with his phone still in his hand and impatience written across his face.
“What happened?”
Mrs. Harper stood beside Claire near the vent.
“The boys are fine,” Claire said.
Vincent looked toward their bedroom.
“Then why was I pulled out of a conference call?”
“Because I want to know whether your sons get better when they sleep somewhere else.”
Silence.
Mrs. Harper looked uncomfortable.
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“You’ve worked here approximately two hours.”
“Two hours and fourteen minutes.”
“This isn’t amusing.”
“I’m not joking.”
He slipped his phone into his pocket.
“My sons have been evaluated by pediatric neurologists, immunologists, toxicologists, infectious disease specialists, pulmonologists, allergists, and physicians from three major hospitals. I’ve flown experts here from Switzerland and Germany. What exactly do you believe everyone missed in two hours?”
Claire could hear the challenge beneath the words.
She also heard fear.
“Maybe everybody has been studying the boys,” she said. “Maybe someone should study the house.”
Vincent stared at her.
“We did.”
“Then why does that vent smell strange?”
Vincent stepped closer.
He crouched.
For several seconds he remained still.
“I don’t smell anything.”
“Exactly.”
Claire folded her arms.
“You live here. Mrs. Harper lives here most of the week. Your staff spends ten hours a day here. People stop noticing smells they’re around constantly.”
“That proves nothing.”
“No. But two children suffering nearly identical symptoms mostly after sleeping in the same section of the house deserves attention.”
Vincent straightened.
Before he could reply, footsteps sounded behind them.
A man wearing a tailored navy suit approached.
He looked to be in his late forties, with silver at his temples and expensive glasses.
“Vincent.”
His gaze shifted toward Claire.
“Who’s this?”
“Claire Morgan. New nanny.”
The man’s smile barely hid his dismissal.
“Dr. Nathan Cole.”
Claire recognized the name immediately.
The twins’ private physician.
Cole turned to Vincent.
“I received Noah’s morning readings. Nothing alarming.”
Claire spoke before Vincent could answer.
“Do their symptoms improve when they sleep away from home?”
Cole looked at her.
“Excuse me?”
“I asked whether—”
“I heard the question.”
His smile disappeared.
“I simply wasn’t aware the nanny agency had begun issuing medical degrees.”
Mrs. Harper looked at the floor.
Claire remained calm.
“I don’t have a medical degree.”
“Good. Then we agree on something.”
Vincent sighed.
“Nathan.”
But Claire wasn’t finished.
“I do know the boys spent three nights at their grandmother’s and improved.”
Cole’s expression flickered.
“That is anecdotal.”
“Did you document it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because children with chronic symptoms fluctuate.”
“Both children?”
“Yes.”
“At the same time?”
“Yes.”
“And when they returned home?”
Cole’s jaw tightened.
Vincent turned toward him.
“When they came back from Mother’s house, they crashed again.”
Cole adjusted his glasses.
“They were also returning to their ordinary routine.”
Claire pointed toward the vent.
“And this smells strange.”
Cole actually laughed.
“We have run environmental testing.”
“For what?”
“Mold, carbon monoxide, radon, volatile organic compounds, common household toxins—”
“From this vent?”
“The entire residence.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Was the ventilation system running normally during testing?”
Cole hesitated.
Just half a second.
Claire saw it.
“So you don’t know.”
“I know far more than you do.”
Vincent stepped between them.
“That’s enough.”
His tone instantly changed the room.
He looked at Claire.
“You believe the house is contributing to their illness?”
“I believe it needs to be ruled out properly.”
Vincent looked toward the boys’ bedrooms.
Then at Mrs. Harper.
“Prepare rooms in the east guest wing.”
Cole frowned.
“Vincent, moving them unnecessarily could disrupt—”
“I’m moving them seventy yards, Nathan, not across the Atlantic.”
“Consistency matters.”
“So does breathing.”
Cole’s face tightened.
Vincent continued.
“And call the environmental company again.”
“I recommend against reacting impulsively to—”
Vincent turned.
“I wasn’t asking for a recommendation.”
That ended the discussion.
By evening, Ethan and Noah had been moved into a guest suite on the opposite side of the mansion.
They treated it like an adventure.
“Can we build a fort?” Ethan asked.
“After dinner,” Claire said.
“Can we sleep in it?”
“No.”
Noah frowned.
“Worst nanny ever.”
“You’ve known me seven hours.”
“Plenty of evidence.”
Claire laughed.
For the first time since arriving, the house almost felt normal.
At dinner, both boys ate more than Mrs. Harper expected.
Later, Claire sat between them reading a book while they argued over which fictional character was more likely to survive being attacked by a dinosaur.
At nine-thirty, they fell asleep.
No coughing.
At eleven, Claire checked them.
Still sleeping.
At one in the morning, she checked again.
Noah’s cheeks had more color.
Maybe she was imagining it.
Claire returned to her small bedroom and tried sleeping.
At 6:12 a.m., someone pounded on her door.
She jumped up.
Vincent stood outside.
Barefoot.
No jacket.
Hair uncombed.
For a billionaire known for looking composed under pressure, he looked almost frightened.
“What happened?”
He stared at her.
“You need to see this.”
Claire followed him to the guest wing.
Both boys were awake.
Ethan was sitting cross-legged on the carpet building something with wooden blocks.
Noah was chasing a remote-control car.
Claire looked at Vincent.
“What?”
He held up the symptom binder.
“For seven months, Ethan has complained of headaches within twenty minutes of waking up.”
Claire looked toward him.
“Ethan?”
The boy glanced up.
“My head doesn’t hurt.”
Vincent swallowed.
“And Noah normally wakes nauseated.”
“No tummy ache!” Noah shouted.
Vincent looked at Claire again.
There was no arrogance left in his expression.
Only disbelief.
“One night.”
Claire nodded cautiously.
“One night doesn’t prove anything.”
“No.”
But his voice cracked slightly.
“Except they haven’t looked this good in months.”
At breakfast, both boys ate pancakes.
Two each.
Mrs. Harper cried quietly in the pantry.
Dr. Cole arrived at nine.
When he saw the twins running through the breakfast room, he stopped.
His surprise lasted only an instant.
Then his professional expression returned.
“Encouraging,” he said.
Claire watched him carefully.
“Very.”
Cole checked their pupils, blood pressure, lungs, reflexes.
Everything looked better.
Vincent asked, “Can moving bedrooms have done this?”
Cole stood.
“There’s no medically responsible way to draw that conclusion after one night.”
“But it’s possible.”
“Many things are possible.”
Claire said, “Then they stay here.”
Cole turned.
“I would strongly discourage creating fear around their bedrooms. Psychological associations can produce symptoms.”
“They were asleep.”
“That doesn’t eliminate stress.”
Vincent rubbed his jaw.
“We’re testing the house again.”
Cole closed his bag.
“I’ll coordinate it.”
“No,” Claire said.
Every head turned.
Cole’s eyes narrowed.
Claire continued.
“You coordinated the previous testing.”
“Are you accusing me of incompetence?”
“I’m saying independent testing makes sense.”
Cole stared at her.
For the first time, Claire saw something beneath his annoyance.
Not insult.
Not pride.
Concern.
Vincent looked between them.
Then reached for his phone.
“I’ll hire a separate company.”
Cole said nothing.
But as he walked past Claire, he leaned close enough that only she could hear.
“You have no idea what you’re interfering with.”
Claire turned.
“What does that mean?”
May you like
Cole kept walking.
And suddenly the strange smell coming from the vent no longer felt like the most disturbing thing in the house.
Related Stories
