Chapter 4 - ADRIAN’S BROTHER
Grant Vale entered the dining room that evening as if he owned the mansion.
Maybe he believed he did.
Fifty.
Expensive navy suit.
Perfect manners.
Silver at his temples.
Scar through his left eyebrow.
He kissed Luke’s head.
Ruffled Noah’s hair.
Asked Caleb about school.
Evan didn’t look at him once.
That was interesting.
“This must be the new caregiver,” Grant said.
“Nia Carter.”
He shook my hand.
His grip lasted one second too long.
“Number fifteen.”
“I prefer Nia.”
His smile never reached his eyes.
“We’ve had unfortunate luck.”
“With caregivers?”
“With unstable employees.”
Marissa’s broken ribs flashed through my mind.
“Funny. I heard some of them had unfortunate luck too.”
Grant’s smile faded slightly.
Adrian looked between us.
“You two know each other?”
“No,” Grant said.
Too fast.
After dinner, Evan found me near the staircase.
“Don’t talk to Uncle Grant.”
“Why?”
“He lies.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
Children exaggerate.
But not always.
“What does he lie about to you?”
Evan looked toward the dining room.
“He says Mom loved him.”
“That doesn’t mean she didn’t.”
“She hated him.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard them fight.”
My pulse increased.
“When?”
“The night before she died.”
There it was again.
Another fracture in Adrian’s version.
“What did they fight about?”
Evan’s face tightened with concentration.
“I don’t remember everything.”
“What do you remember?”
“Mom said, ‘You will never use my boys.’”
A chill moved down my spine.
“And Grant?”
“He said Dad had already made his choice.”
“What choice?”
Evan shook his head.
Then footsteps approached.
He immediately stopped talking.
Grant appeared.
“Bedtime, Evan.”
“I know.”
The boy left.
Grant remained.
“You’re asking too many questions.”
I leaned against the railing.
“That sounds like a warning.”
“It’s advice.”
“From a concerned uncle?”
“From someone who has watched this family survive worse things than you can imagine.”
I smiled.
“I worked child welfare in Baltimore for six years.”
His expression changed.
“So?”
“So people who want to scare me usually need better material.”
He moved closer.
“Elena was troubled.”
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“That’s the first thing controlling families always say about dead women.”
His eyes went cold.
For the first time, the polished uncle disappeared.
“You have a sick sister.”
My blood froze.
I had never told him.
Not once.
“How do you know about my sister?”
Grant smiled.
“Adrian investigates everyone who enters this house.”
“Did Adrian tell you?”
“No.”
That answer was worse.
Grant walked away.
I immediately found Adrian.
“Did you tell your brother about my sister?”
His face hardened.
“No.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
My anger rose.
“You ran a background check?”
“Of course.”
“Of course?”
“This is my house.”
“These are my private medical circumstances.”
“Your sister’s surgery explains why you accepted a job fourteen people quit.”
“At least I’m here for an honest reason.”
He flinched.
Good.
Then I told him what Grant said.
Adrian became still.
“I never shared that file.”
“Who had access?”
“My security director.”
“Anyone else?”
“One person.”
“Grant?”
“No.”
He looked toward the hallway.
“My attorney.”
At that exact moment, a child screamed upstairs.
We ran.
Luke stood inside my bedroom holding my bag.
He had found the hospital paperwork for my sister.
But that wasn’t why he was crying.
He was holding a photograph I had never seen before.
My sister and me.
Taken two days earlier outside the hospital.
Someone had placed it inside my bag after I arrived at the mansion.
May you like
On the back were six words:
LEAVE BEFORE YOUR SISTER NEEDS A FUNERAL.
