Chapter 3 - The Billionaire’s Blindness
The grand foyer was flooded with light as dozens of uniformed staff members stood in neat rows beneath the sweeping marble staircases.
Standing on the third landing, looking down like royalty reviewing her subjects, was Isabella Sterling. Beside her stood William Sterling, the fifty-two-year-old billionaire founder of Sterling Enterprises. William looked tall and handsome in his tailored tuxedo, but Emma noticed what others overlooked: his posture was slouched, his skin was pale and graying, and his eyes had a milky, unfocused glaze—the classic signs of long-term chemical sedation.
"Thank you all for gathering so quickly," Isabella said, her voice dripping with artificial warmth as she rested a delicate hand on William’s shoulder. "As some of you may have heard, a small security anomaly occurred in the lower levels a few moments ago. A minor technical glitch with our security systems."
She smiled, but her dark eyes swept across the staff like a hawk searching for prey.
"Out of an abundance of caution, security will be reviewing all staff locker rooms, personal bags, and vehicle trunks before anyone leaves the premises tonight," Isabella continued smoothly. "We appreciate your patience during this minor inconvenience."
Beside her, William blinked slowly, passing a hand over his forehead. "Isabella... darling," he murmured softly into her ear, though his voice carried down the marble staircase. "Where is... where is Ethan again? I thought I heard him calling me a moment ago..."
Isabella’s smile didn't break for a single millisecond. She stroked William’s cheek with practiced affection. "You're just tired, my love. Remember? The doctor said your grief over Sarah's passing is causing faint auditory hallucinations. Ethan is safe at the lake house in Maine with his aunt. We spoke to him this morning, remember?"
"Ah... yes," William muttered, looking confused and embarrassed in front of his staff. "Yes, of course. Forgive me. My mind has been so foggy lately..."
Emma stood in the third row of housekeepers, her fingernails biting deep into the palms of her yellow gloves. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run up those grand marble stairs, grab William by his lapels, and force him to look at the photos on her camcorder. But she knew that if she moved now, Isabella’s private security detail—four hulking men in black suits standing near the exit doors—would tackle her before she could utter a single sentence.
"Dismissed," Mrs. Gable announced.
The staff began to disperse toward the service exit. Emma moved quickly, blending into a group of catering staff moving toward the rear courtyard.
As she passed through the kitchen doors, her smartphone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text message from an unknown number:
May you like
I KNOW WHAT YOU TOOK FROM THE BASEMENT, EMMA. LEAVE THE BOY IN THE ALLEY AND DRIVE AWAY, OR YOUR OWN DAUGHTER WILL NOT MAKE IT HOME FROM SCHOOL TOMORROW.
Emma’s heart completely stopped. She clutched her phone, her knuckles turning bone white. She looked up and saw Isabella standing on the second-floor balcony above the kitchen, holding a sleek silver smartphone, staring down at her with a terrifying, cold smile.
