Vincent immediately opened it.
Lucas was sitting on his bed.
His twin brother, Leo, was curled beside him beneath a gray blanket.
They were seven years old.
They looked like seven-year-olds.
But there was something deeply wrong with the picture.
Their faces were pale.
Their eyes seemed too tired.
And neither boy had the energy to run toward their father.
Vincent walked over and knelt.
“How are my guys feeling?”
“Okay,” Lucas whispered.
Leo nodded.
“Did you eat lunch?”
“A little.”
“What did you have?”
“Soup.”
Lucas looked toward me.
“Are you our new nanny?”
“I am.”
“Are you going to leave?”
The question caught me off guard.
“Why would you think that?”
“Everyone leaves.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Lucas.”
The boy lowered his eyes.
I walked closer.
“I don’t plan on leaving.”
Leo suddenly coughed.
It was a dry, irritated cough.
Then he rubbed his nose.
I noticed something.
A fine red rash along the side of his neck.
“Does that happen often?”
Vincent looked at me.
“What?”
“The rash.”
He stared at his son.
“I’ve never noticed it.”
I crouched beside Leo.
“Does it itch?”
“A little.”
“When?”
“Mostly at night.”
“Both of you?”
Lucas nodded.
“Sometimes.”
I looked around the room.
The windows were closed.
The air-conditioning was running.
And that faint floral smell was there again.
Stronger.
I stood.
“Who cleans these rooms?”
“Mrs. Harper supervises the staff,” Vincent said.
“Who changes their bedding?”
“Different housekeepers.”
“Laundry detergent?”
“Whatever the household uses.”
“Cleaning products?”
“Same.”
I looked at the vent.
“What about the air filters?”
Vincent’s expression became serious.
“I’ll have someone inspect them.”
“Not someone from the regular maintenance company.”
“Why?”
“Because if I’m right, I don’t want anyone changing anything before we know what we’re looking at.”
He studied me.
“You think the ventilation is making my sons sick?”
“I think something in this house may be affecting them.”
“That is a very serious accusation.”
“I didn’t accuse anyone.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying the simplest answer may be sitting above our heads.”
Vincent stared at the vent.
Then he pulled out his phone.
“Shut down the ventilation system.”
I blinked.
“Now?”
“Now.”
He called security.
“Disable the HVAC system for the east wing. Do not touch the filters. Don’t remove anything. I want the entire system preserved exactly as it is.”
He ended the call.
The house became strangely quiet.
Ten minutes later, Lucas looked toward the window.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“My head doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Vincent froze.
“What?”
Lucas touched his forehead.
“It stopped.”
Leo looked at his brother.
“Mine too.”
I felt the hairs rise on my arms.
Vincent stared at me.
Neither of us said anything.
That night, the boys slept with their windows slightly open.
The ventilation system remained off.
I sat outside their bedroom with a book I wasn’t reading.
At midnight, Mrs. Harper approached.
“Claire.”
I looked up.
She stood at the end of the hallway.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Of course.”
She glanced toward the boys’ room.
“Quietly.”
We moved downstairs into a small sitting room.
She shut the door.
“I’ve worked here for nineteen years,” she whispered.
“I figured.”
“You need to understand something.”
“What?”
“Don’t investigate this alone.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because people have investigated before.”
“Doctors?”
“Doctors. Engineers. Security people.”
“And?”
“They stopped.”
“Stopped because they found nothing?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“They found something.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
Mrs. Harper looked toward the closed door.
“I don’t know everything. I wasn’t allowed to.”
“Who wasn’t allowed to?”
“Anyone.”
She sat down.
“After Isabella died, Mr. Moretti became obsessed with protecting the boys. He hired the best people money could buy. Doctors, nutritionists, environmental specialists.”
“Then why didn’t they find the cause?”
“Because every time someone got close, they were replaced.”
“By whom?”
She didn’t answer.
“Mrs. Harper.”
“Call me Margaret.”
“Margaret. Who replaced them?”
She looked at me.
“Dr. Blake.”
I remembered the doctor’s expression.
“Why does Vincent trust him?”
“He doesn’t.”
“Then why is he still here?”
“Because Blake convinced Vincent that the boys’ condition was complicated. He told him removing him could interrupt their treatment.”
“And Vincent believed him?”
“He was desperate.”
Margaret leaned forward.
“There was one doctor who refused to accept Blake’s explanation.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Samuel Reed.”
“What happened to him?”
“He disappeared from the case.”
“Meaning?”
“He was fired.”
“Why?”
“He said the boys were being poisoned.”
I sat very still.
“By what?”
“He never told me.”
“Did he mention the ventilation?”
Margaret shook her head.
“No. He mentioned the house.”
“What did he say?”
She hesitated.
“He said the boys weren’t sick.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“He said they were being exposed.”
“Exposed to what?”
“I don’t know.”
She stood.
“That’s all I can tell you.”
“No.”
She stopped.
“You know more.”
Her eyes filled again.
“I know enough to be afraid.”
Before I could ask another question, footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Margaret’s face went white.
“Who is it?”
She whispered.
“I don’t know.”
The doorknob moved.
We both froze.
Then the door opened.
Vincent stood there.
“What are you two doing?”
Margaret looked at me.
I answered.
“Talking.”
“About?”
“The boys.”
His jaw tightened.
“Come with me.”
I followed him upstairs.
He stopped outside the boys’ bedroom.
“They’re sleeping.”
I looked through the doorway.
Both boys were asleep.
Peacefully.
For the first time since I’d arrived.
Vincent spoke quietly.
“You heard what Margaret said.”
“Yes.”
“What exactly did she tell you?”
“That someone believed the boys were being poisoned.”
His face changed.
“Did she say who?”
“Dr. Reed.”
Vincent looked away.
“He was a good doctor.”
“Why did you fire him?”
“I didn’t.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I never fired him.”
“Then who did?”
“I was told he resigned.”
Vincent took out his phone.
“I’ve never spoken to him since.”
“Then you were lied to.”
“Yes.”
His voice was barely audible.
“I think so.”
The next morning, Lucas woke hungry.
That alone was unusual.
According to Vincent, the boys had barely eaten breakfast for months.
But at 7:15, Lucas came downstairs and asked for pancakes.
Leo wanted eggs.
Vincent stared at them as if they had announced they were going to fly.
“You’re hungry?”
Lucas nodded.
“Very.”
They ate everything.
I watched carefully.
No headache.
No nausea.
No dizziness.
No coughing.
By noon, they were playing in the garden.
Vincent stood beside me.
“They haven’t run like this in over a year.”
“Keep the ventilation off.”
“I will.”
“Don’t tell Dr. Blake.”
His face hardened.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
That afternoon, Vincent called an independent environmental specialist from Boston.
The man arrived without being told the full story.
He inspected the HVAC system, the ducts, filters, vents, insulation, and air quality.
After three hours, he came downstairs carrying a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was a grayish-white residue collected from inside the ventilation duct.
“What is it?” Vincent asked.
The specialist shook his head.
“I’m not prepared to say.”
“Can you test it?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Forty-eight hours.”
Vincent nodded.
Then the man said something that changed everything.
“I found something else.”
He opened his tablet.
“This ductwork was modified.”
“When?”
“Recently.”
“How recently?”
“Based on the materials, perhaps eighteen to twenty-four months ago.”
Vincent’s face went pale.
“That matches the beginning of their symptoms.”
“Exactly.”
I looked at the specialist.
“Who installed the modification?”
“That’s the problem.”
He zoomed in on a photograph.
“There are no standard service records.”
“Meaning?”
“Someone altered the system outside the normal maintenance schedule.”
Vincent clenched his fists.
“Security logs.”
He immediately called the head of security.
“Get me every maintenance entry for this house from the last two years.”
A pause.
Then his face changed.
“What?”
He listened.
“Repeat that.”
Another pause.
“Delete nothing. I’m coming down.”
He hung up.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Someone accessed the HVAC control room fourteen months ago.”
“Who?”
“The security system says the access card belonged to me.”
“But you weren’t there.”
“No.”
“Who else had access?”
Vincent stared at me.
“Dr. Blake.”
The security room was buried beneath the estate.
Vincent pulled up the access records.
There it was.
Dr. Harrison Blake.
Multiple entries.
But not just him.
Another card appeared repeatedly.
An employee named Thomas Vale.
I recognized the name.
“Who is he?”
“Head of household maintenance.”
“Where is he?”
Vincent called.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
He turned to security.
“Find him.”
Twenty minutes later, they learned Thomas had left the property that morning.
His car was gone.
His phone was off.
Vincent’s expression became cold.
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