Chapter 8 - THE NIGHT THE ESTATE WENT DARK|
The power failed at 9:17 p.m.
One moment, the Hawthorne estate glowed with chandeliers and warm wall sconces. The next, darkness swallowed the corridors, leaving only the faint emergency lights above the doors.
Nadia was in the west wing helping Mila unpack when the first alarm sounded.
Marcus's voice came through the security system.
“Everyone stay where you are. We have an unauthorized entry on the north grounds.”
Mila froze.
“Is it the man from Boston?”
“I don't know,” Nadia replied. “Stay behind me.”
She locked the bedroom door and moved toward the window. Outside, rain swept across the lawn. Several security lights flickered, then died.
A crash sounded downstairs.
Someone had broken a window.
Nadia grabbed the heavy brass lamp from the bedside table. Her hands shook, but she forced herself to breathe slowly.
“Call Theodore.”
Mila tried. The line failed.
Then a voice came from the hallway.
“Nadia?”
It was Eleanor.
Nadia opened the door and found the older woman standing with a flashlight.
“Come with me,” Eleanor whispered. “Theodore wants everyone in the reinforced room.”
“Where is he?”
“Downstairs.”
They hurried toward the main staircase.
Halfway there, Nadia heard a sharp metallic click behind them.
A man emerged from the darkness.
He wore a black raincoat and a mask. Before Nadia could react, he seized Eleanor's arm.
“Where's the key?”
Eleanor struck him with her cane.
He cursed and released her.
Nadia swung the lamp into his shoulder. The man staggered, and Eleanor stumbled away. Nadia grabbed her hand and ran toward the study.
The attacker recovered quickly.
He chased them through the corridor, his shoes pounding against the marble floor.
Nadia reached the study and slammed the door. Theodore stood inside with Marcus and two guards, all armed. The moment he saw Nadia's face, he crossed the room.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. Eleanor—”
“I'm here,” Eleanor said, entering behind her.
Theodore pulled Nadia close for a brief second before turning toward Marcus.
“Lock down the house.”
“Already done.”
The security team located the intruder near the library. He escaped through a service exit before they could identify him, but he left something behind: a small silver ring engraved with the initials C.V.
Nadia stared at it.
“Catherine Vale.”
Theodore called the police, then ordered Marcus to examine every camera backup. The outage had been deliberate. Someone had disabled the main security system and entered through a service corridor known only to former employees.
The intruder had not been searching for money.
He had gone straight to the eastern wing.
At midnight, Marcus found a second clue hidden inside the workshop's broken window frame: a strip of paper bearing a handwritten address.
A private storage facility in Queens.
Theodore wanted to leave immediately.
Nadia insisted on going with him.
“This person knows my name. They threatened Mila. They came into the house looking for my mother's records. I'm not staying behind while everyone else decides what I can handle.”
Theodore looked at her for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“You stay beside me. If anything happens, you follow Marcus. No arguments.”
“I can agree to the first part.”
He almost smiled.
They arrived at the storage facility shortly after two in the morning. The address led them to a unit rented under a false name. Marcus cut the lock, and Theodore opened the metal door.
Inside stood several cardboard boxes, an old sewing machine, and a trunk covered with a faded blue blanket.
Nadia recognized the stitching on the blanket immediately.
Her mother had made it.
She pulled it away.
The trunk contained letters, photographs, and a small cassette recorder.
On top lay an envelope addressed to Nadia.
My darling girl, if you are reading this, someone has finally found the truth I spent my life trying to hide.
Nadia opened it with trembling hands.
The letter was dated three days before the workshop fire.
May you like
Her mother had written only one sentence beneath the greeting.
You were never the child I was told had died. You were the child I was ordered to forget.
