Chapter 2 - The Room Behind the Wall
I didn't sleep much that night.
My room was on the second floor, far enough from Lucas and Leo to give the family privacy but close enough for me to hear if either boy called.
At 1:17 a.m., I was still staring at the ceiling.
Mrs. Harper's warning kept replaying in my mind.
The last person who asked about that ventilation system didn't work here the next morning.
I got out of bed.
I didn't go into the hallway.
Not yet.
Instead, I opened the notebook I always carried and wrote down everything I had observed.
Both boys were affected.
Symptoms had developed gradually.
They spent most of their time in connected bedrooms.
The strange odor was strongest near their ventilation grate.
Mrs. Harper recognized something about it.
And someone had apparently asked questions before me.
At breakfast the next morning, Lucas barely touched his pancakes.
Leo looked exhausted.
Vincent sat across from them, pretending to read something on his phone.
He wasn't reading.
He was watching how much they ate.
“Dad,” Lucas said, “you're staring again.”
“I’m looking at my sons.”
“You stare weird.”
Leo nodded solemnly.
“Very weird.”
For half a second, Vincent smiled.
Then Lucas dropped his fork.
It wasn't dramatic.
His fingers simply seemed to lose their strength.
The fork struck the plate.
Vincent stood instantly.
“Lucas?”
“I’m okay.”
Dr. Blake arrived twenty minutes later.
He examined both boys.
I stayed nearby.
“They're weaker today,” Vincent said.
Blake listened to Lucas's breathing.
“There will be fluctuations.”
“You said that last week.”
“And it remains true.”
I watched Blake pack his equipment.
“Could their environment be contributing?”
He looked at me.
“What environment?”
“The house.”
His expression became impatient.
“They've undergone extensive toxicology screening.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“Then ask a better one.”
Vincent looked up.
Blake softened his tone.
“There is no evidence suggesting an environmental cause.”
“Have you tested the air in their bedrooms?”
Silence.
Just one second.
But I saw it.
“No,” Blake said. “Because there has been no medical reason to do so.”
I looked toward Vincent.
He had seen the hesitation too.
“Test it,” he said.
Blake sighed.
“Vincent—”
“Today.”
“I can arrange—”
“No. Someone independent.”
Blake's eyes sharpened.
“That would be unnecessary.”
Vincent stood.
“Then you won't mind.”
Blake left without saying goodbye to me.
An hour later, Vincent summoned the estate's property manager.
His name was Raymond Cole.
He had worked for the Moretti family for nine years.
When Vincent asked who controlled the ventilation system, Raymond looked confused.
“The climate system is automated, sir.”
Claire, I thought.
Same answer.
Vincent leaned against his desk.
“And who maintains it?”
“Several contractors.”
“Names.”
Raymond listed three companies.
I wrote them down.
Then I asked, “Is there a separate system serving the children's wing?”
Raymond hesitated.
“There are zoning controls.”
“Can someone access them manually?”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
“The mechanical rooms.”
“Plural?”
“One in the basement. One auxiliary control room behind the west corridor.”
I looked at Vincent.
“Show us.”
Raymond's face changed.
“Sir, there isn't much to see.”
Vincent's eyes settled on him.
“Then this will be quick.”
The west corridor was behind a section of the mansion I hadn't visited.
We passed a library, a closed sitting room, and a narrow service staircase.
At the end was a locked door.
Raymond reached for his keys.
His hands shook.
The first key didn't work.
Neither did the second.
“Problem?” Vincent asked.
“The lock was changed.”
“When?”
“I don't know.”
Vincent stared at him.
“You manage this house.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And somebody changed a lock in my house without telling you?”
Raymond looked increasingly pale.
“I'll find out.”
Vincent pulled out his phone.
“Marco.”
One of the security men appeared within a minute.
“Open it.”
The door was unlocked professionally rather than forced apart.
Inside was a narrow mechanical room filled with electrical panels, pipes, and ventilation controls.
I expected dust.
There wasn't any.
Someone had been in there recently.
A small metal table stood against the wall.
On it were disposable gloves.
A screwdriver.
And an empty plastic case.
I stepped closer.
“Don't touch anything.”
Vincent stopped beside me.
“What was in the case?”
“I don't know.”
Raymond stared at it.
“I've never seen that before.”
Vincent looked at him.
“I hope that's true.”
We checked the control panel.
One label immediately caught my attention.
EAST BEDROOM ZONE.
Another handwritten label had been taped beneath it.
L/L.
Lucas and Leo.
“Who wrote that?” I asked.
Raymond shook his head.
I examined the settings.
The children's rooms had a separate airflow schedule.
At several points during the night, the system increased ventilation specifically into their bedrooms.
Not out.
Into.
“Is that normal?” I asked.
Raymond moved closer.
“No.”
Vincent's face became still.
“When does it happen?”
Raymond checked.
“Between midnight and four.”
My stomach tightened.
The boys slept there every night.
Vincent looked toward Marco.
“Seal this room. Nobody enters.”
Then he turned to Raymond.
“Give Marco the names of every person with access.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Raymond?”
The property manager froze.
“If you forget one, don't come back.”
We returned upstairs.
Mrs. Harper was outside the twins' rooms.
She looked at our faces and knew immediately.
“You found the west room.”
Vincent stopped.
“How did you know about it?”
She closed her eyes.
That tiny gesture told me she had reached the end of whatever lie she had been trying to maintain.
“Mrs. Harper,” I said gently, “if you know something that could help Lucas and Leo, this is the time.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
Vincent's voice was colder.
“My sons.”
“I know.”
“Then talk.”
She looked toward the boys' closed doors.
“Not here.”
We went into a small sitting room.
Mrs. Harper remained standing.
“Eight months ago,” she began, “one of the maintenance workers came to me. His name was Peter Lang.”
Vincent looked at Marco.
Marco nodded, apparently recognizing the name.
“He said someone had changed the settings for the children's ventilation zone. He thought it was a mistake. He reset them.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“The next day, the settings had been changed back.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“Why wasn't I told?”
“Peter wanted proof first.”
“And?”
“He found something in the auxiliary room.”
“What?”
“I don't know. He never told me.”
“Where is he?”
Mrs. Harper looked at the floor.
“He left.”
“Why?”
“He didn't.”
The room became silent.
Vincent stepped forward.
“What does that mean?”
Mrs. Harper's voice trembled.
“Security said he resigned. But Peter called me the night before. He said he was going to speak to you in the morning.”
“And he disappeared?”
“I never saw him again.”
Vincent looked toward Marco.
“Find him.”
Marco left immediately.
Mrs. Harper wiped her eyes.
“I should have told you.”
“Yes,” Vincent said.
The words were quiet, which somehow made them harsher.
“I was afraid.”
“So were my sons.”
She flinched.
I stepped between the emotional edges of the conversation.
“Did Peter tell you anything else?”
Mrs. Harper thought.
“One thing.”
“What?”
“He asked whether Dr. Blake had access to the house when the family wasn't here.”
Vincent's head lifted.
“Blake?”
“He didn't accuse him. He only asked.”
That afternoon, an independent environmental testing team arrived.
Vincent had brought them in without telling Blake.
They sampled the boys' bedrooms, the hallway, the ventilation system, and the west mechanical room.
The boys were moved to guest rooms on the opposite side of the mansion.
Something happened that first evening.
Leo ate almost his entire dinner.
Nobody commented.
But I saw Vincent notice.
The next morning, Lucas said his headache was better.
Again, it could have meant nothing.
One good morning wasn't proof.
But Vincent noticed that too.
Forty-eight hours later, the preliminary environmental report arrived.
The lead investigator asked to speak with Vincent privately.
Vincent refused.
“Claire stays.”
The investigator placed the report on the desk.
“We detected an abnormal airborne compound in the children's bedroom ventilation pathway.”
Vincent didn't move.
“Could it cause their symptoms?”
“Long-term exposure could potentially explain several of them. We need more testing before making a definitive medical conclusion.”
My heart pounded.
“Was it elsewhere in the house?”
“Not at comparable levels.”
Vincent's voice became almost a whisper.
“So somebody put it there.”
“I can't determine intent.”
“But it didn't happen naturally?”
The investigator paused.
“The pattern is unusual enough that I would recommend preserving the ventilation equipment and involving appropriate authorities.”
Vincent looked at me.
For the first time since I'd arrived, there was something in his face more dangerous than anger.
Recognition.
His sons had spent eighteen months being treated for an illness nobody could identify.
But the first independent test of their bedroom environment had found something abnormal.
Someone had been looking in the wrong place.
Or perhaps someone had made sure they did.
Then Vincent's phone rang.
Marco.
He answered.
“What?”
A pause.
Vincent's expression changed.
“Where?”
Another pause.
“When?”
He slowly lowered himself into the chair.
I had never seen him look shocked before.
“What is it?” I asked.
Vincent looked at Mrs. Harper.
Then at me.
“Peter Lang didn't resign.”
Mrs. Harper covered her mouth.
Vincent continued.
“Three days after he disappeared from this house, he checked into a motel under another name.”
“Is he alive?”
Vincent nodded.
Marco was still speaking through the phone.
Then Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“And he left something behind.”
“What?”
Vincent ended the call.
“A flash drive.”
I stared at him.
“What's on it?”
“They don't know yet.”
He stood.
“But there's a handwritten label.”
“What does it say?”
Vincent's voice became cold.
“LUCAS AND LEO — IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME.”
And suddenly, the mystery inside the Moretti mansion was no longer only about a ventilation grate.
Someone had known the twins were being exposed to something.
Someone had tried to document it.
May you like
And whatever Peter Lang had discovered had frightened him enough to run.
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