Chapter 3 - The Broken Toy and the Secret
upstairs in the east wing's staff quarters, three-year-old Emma sat on the edge of a tiny twin bed.
The room was dark save for the moonlight filtering through the high, barred window. Outside, she could hear the sound of heavy boots walking back and forth along the hallway. Two large guards stood outside her door, under strict orders from Vincent to make sure no one entered or left.
Emma held her cloth rabbit tightly against her chest. Her small thumb was tucked into her mouth, her shoulders shaking with quiet, silent sobs.
"Mama," she whimpered softly into the dark. "Mama come back..."
She reached down into her dress pocket. Her small fingers brushed against a cold, hard object.
It wasn't her toy. It wasn't her grass bracelet.
It was a small, silver USB flash drive with a broken plastic corner.
Three hours earlier, before the terrible noise in the big room under the glass lamps, Emma had been playing under the big wooden table in the library. She liked sitting under that table because the rug was soft and smelled like old books.
While she was playing with her blocks, a tall lady with shiny pink clothes—the lady who smelled like angry flowers—had come into the room with the man who wore glass eyes. They hadn't seen Emma under the long table tablecloth.
The lady had dropped the small silver thing into a dark trash can near the desk, saying in a mad voice: "If Lorenzo sees these offshore transfer logs, he’ll throw us both into the East River before midnight."
After the mean lady left, Emma had crawled out, picked the shiny silver thing out of the paper trash, and put it in her pocket because she thought it was a tiny toy boat.
Emma sat up on the bed. She looked at the silver object in her hand. Then she looked at the pink backpack lying rummaged and torn in the corner of the room, where Vincent had thrown it after shaking out the pill bottles.
The front flap of the backpack hung loosely. The embroidered letters—EMMA—that her mother had sewn with red thread were pulled apart.
Emma climbed off the bed. She walked on tiptoes across the cold floorboards.
She picked up her backpack. Deep inside the side pocket, where Vincent's thick fingers hadn't reached, was her own plastic medicine cup decorated with yellow ducks, along with a small paper envelope her mother had prepared that morning.
In scribbled handwriting, Sophia had written: Emma’s 8:00 PM Dose - Do Not Forget.
Emma held the paper envelope. She looked at the small silver USB stick.
Then, the door handle turned.
The door creaked open, and the tall, imposing figure of Lorenzo Moretti stepped into the dim room.
He had removed his suit jacket. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looked exhausted, haunted, his gray eyes shadowed by an unbearable weight.
Isabella was stable for the moment, sleeping under the heavy influence of sedatives upstairs. But Dr. Henderson had warned him that her vitals were dangerously erratic. The doctor couldn't explain why her heart wasn't responding properly to the standard emergency medication.
Lorenzo had come down to the staff quarters not out of mercy, but because he was a man driven by an agonizing need for answers. He wanted to look at the child's room. He wanted to see if there were more stolen goods, more secrets, more proof that he had let a viper into his home.
He stopped in the doorway when he saw Emma standing in the center of the rug, holding her tiny, torn backpack.
The little girl didn't run. She didn't cry.
She stared up at the giant man who controlled everything in the house, her big brown eyes filled with an unsettling, pure clarity.
"Where is your mother?" Lorenzo asked, his voice rough and low.
"In the dark room," Emma whispered, her voice rasping from crying. "The mean man put Mama in the dark."
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. "Your mother took things that didn't belong to her, Emma. She put Sister Isabella in danger."
Emma shook her dark curls furiously. "No! Mama no take! Pink Lady put bottles in Emma's bag!"
Lorenzo froze. "What did you say?"
"Pink Lady," Emma repeated, pointing one chubby finger toward the hallway. "Pink Lady put glass bottles in Emma's bag when Mama was getting water for Sister. Emma saw."
Lorenzo narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to the toddler. "Why didn't you say that downstairs?"
"Pink Lady told Mama she cut Mama's neck," Emma said simply, tapping her own throat just as Vivian had done. "Mama got scared. Mama cried."
A cold, sharp needle of doubt pierced Lorenzo’s chest.
He looked down at the tiny girl. A three-year-old child did not invent a detail like a throat-cutting gesture unless she had witnessed it.
"And what is that in your hand?" Lorenzo asked softly, kneeling down until he was at eye level with her.
Emma held out her tiny palm.
In her left hand was the paper envelope containing her own heart medicine. In her right hand was the silver USB flash drive.
"Pink Lady threw the silver boat in the trash," Emma said, offering it to him. "She said Mr. Lorenzo go in the river."
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Lorenzo stared at the silver drive resting in the toddler's palm.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached out his massive, scarred hand and took the drive.
