PART 5 — The Voice Behind Isabella’s Door
My entire body went cold.
The voice came again.
“Claire…”
Vincent stared at the door.
“How does he know your name?”
“I don’t know.”
I stepped backward.
The voice sounded male.
Calm.
Almost familiar.
But there was something strange about it.
It wasn't coming from inside the room.
It was coming from a speaker.
I looked up.
“Turn off the lights.”
Vincent frowned.
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
He switched off the hallway lights.
The darkness revealed a tiny red glow above the door.
A microphone.
Someone had installed a hidden speaker inside the wall.
The voice returned.
“You shouldn't have come here.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“Who are you?”
Silence.
Then:
“You're getting too close.”
I felt a chill run through me.
Vincent reached for the door.
I stopped him.
“Don't.”
“What?”
“This is exactly what they want.”
He looked at me.
“You think it's a trap?”
“I know it is.”
Before he could answer, the speaker crackled.
“Look beneath the desk.”
Then it went silent.
Vincent stared at me.
Neither of us moved.
Finally, he unlocked the office.
The door opened slowly.
Nothing happened.
No attacker.
No hidden person.
Just darkness.
We entered.
The room looked exactly as we had left it.
Except for one thing.
Isabella's desk drawer was open.
I walked toward it.
Inside was a small envelope.
My name was written across the front.
CLAIRE MORGAN
I stared at it.
Vincent whispered,
“How?”
I didn't answer.
My hands trembled slightly as I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Seven words.
If you're reading this, they chose you.
I looked at Vincent.
“Who is ‘they’?”
“I don't know.”
I read the message again.
There was another line underneath.
Don't trust anyone who works for me.
Vincent went completely still.
“That includes me.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“It means someone wants me to distrust you.”
“Or it's telling you the truth.”
His words surprised me.
I folded the paper.
“You think you could be involved?”
“I don't know anymore.”
For the first time since I had met Vincent Moretti, the billionaire looked genuinely lost.
Then something crashed downstairs.
We both turned.
A scream followed.
Mrs. Harper.
Vincent ran.
I followed.
We reached the kitchen and found her standing beside the counter.
A glass lay shattered on the floor.
“What happened?” Vincent demanded.
She pointed toward the back door.
“Someone was there.”
“Did you see them?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
I looked outside.
Rain had started falling.
The garden was empty.
But the security lights were off.
“All cameras are down,” the security chief said as he entered.
Vincent's expression hardened.
“Again?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Four minutes.”
“Four minutes is enough.”
I walked toward the back door.
There were muddy footprints on the stone path.
They led toward the greenhouse.
I looked at Vincent.
“The boys said they feel better in the greenhouse.”
He immediately understood.
We ran.
The greenhouse was dark.
The glass walls rattled in the wind.
I opened the door.
“Lucas?”
No answer.
“Leo?”
Nothing.
Then I heard a noise.
A faint cough.
From behind the plants.
I rushed forward.
A man was lying on the floor.
Daniel.
Vincent dropped beside him.
“Daniel!”
Daniel's eyes opened.
He was breathing.
Barely.
There was a bruise across his forehead.
“What happened?” Vincent asked.
Daniel tried to speak.
“Someone…”
“Who?”
Daniel grabbed Vincent's sleeve.
“He knows.”
“Who?”
“Your…”
He coughed.
“Your brother.”
Vincent froze.
“My brother?”
Daniel nodded weakly.
“Michael…”
Vincent's face changed.
“Michael died twelve years ago.”
Daniel stared at him.
“I know.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Daniel reached into his jacket.
He pulled out a photograph.
It showed Isabella standing beside a man.
Vincent recognized him immediately.
His younger brother, Michael.
But the photograph was dated three years after Michael's supposed death.
Vincent stared at it.
“This is impossible.”
Daniel whispered,
“He didn't die.”
The silence was overwhelming.
I looked at Vincent.
“You were told your brother died?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Twelve years ago.”
“How?”
“A car accident.”
Daniel shook his head.
“It wasn't an accident.”
Vincent's face went pale.
“What are you saying?”
Daniel looked at me.
Then at Vincent.
“Michael discovered what was happening to the boys.”
My heart stopped.
“What did he discover?”
Daniel swallowed.
“The ventilation system wasn't installed to protect the mansion.”
Vincent leaned closer.
“What was it installed for?”
Daniel whispered:
“To monitor the twins.”
I felt a chill run through me.
“Monitor them for what?”
Daniel's eyes moved toward the greenhouse ceiling.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
“Someone has been conducting an experiment.”
Vincent stared at him.
“Who?”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Before he could answer, every light in the greenhouse turned on.
A projector suddenly activated.
An image appeared across the far wall.
Lucas and Leo.
Medical scans.
Blood tests.
Behavioral charts.
And dates.
Dozens of them.
The first was eighteen months ago.
The exact moment the twins became sick.
I stepped closer.
Then I noticed something.
At the bottom of every file was the same code.
PROJECT M-17
Vincent stared at the screen.
“What is M-17?”
Daniel whispered,
“Michael Moretti.”
I looked at him.
“Why would someone name a medical experiment after Vincent's dead brother?”
Daniel's expression changed.
“Because Michael wasn't the subject.”
“Then who was?”
Daniel looked directly at Vincent.
“You were.”
Vincent stepped backward.
“No.”
Daniel continued.
“Your brother discovered that someone had been testing a substance inside this mansion.”
“On me?”
“No.”
He looked toward the medical files.
“On Isabella.”
Vincent's face collapsed.
“She was pregnant when the testing began.”
Silence.
I looked at the photographs of Isabella.
Then at Lucas and Leo's medical records.
Something suddenly connected in my mind.
The twins hadn't simply become sick.
Their illness had started eighteen months ago.
But whatever had happened to Isabella…
had begun much earlier.
And if Daniel was telling the truth, then Lucas and Leo's condition might not be an accident.
It might be the final stage of something that began before they were even born.
Then the projector flickered.
A new image appeared.
A photograph of Isabella holding two newborn babies.
Lucas and Leo.
Underneath it was a sentence:
THEY WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE.
Vincent stared at the screen.
I heard him whisper,
“Who did this?”
The projector went black.
Then a final message appeared.
ASK YOUR FATHER.
Vincent's face went completely white.
“My father has been dead for fifteen years.”
I looked at the screen.
“Maybe.”
I pointed at the message.
“But someone wants us to believe he wasn't.”
And somewhere inside the mansion…
a door slowly opened.
TO BE CONTINUED…
