Chapter 2 - THE CAMERA THAT SHOULDN’T EXIST
Greta’s face went white before Dom even entered the hall.
That told me more than any confession.
For eight months, I had watched Greta Halsey control the mansion with military precision. She knew which silver belonged in which drawer, which guest towels were too good for staff use, which flowers Don Alessandro preferred in the west corridor, and which employees could be reduced to tears with one raised eyebrow.
She did not scare easily.
Now her hand shook around my dismissal papers.
Don Alessandro noticed.
He noticed everything.
Dom appeared at the far end of the great hall carrying a tablet.
He was forty, broad-shouldered, quiet, and usually looked as if smiling had been removed from his job description.
He stopped beside Alessandro.
“Sir.”
Alessandro held out one hand.
Dom gave him the tablet.
Nobody moved.
Not Greta.
Not the thirty-two employees who had gathered to watch my humiliation.
Not me.
Mia clung to my neck, her broken rabbit crushed between us.
Alessandro watched the footage.
His expression did not change.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
Finally, he turned the tablet around.
The image showed the display gallery at 2:13 that morning.
Greta entered.
Alone.
She crossed to the antique clock beneath a glass dome.
Unlocked the case.
Removed the clock.
Then disappeared toward the staff corridor.
A second camera picked her up eleven minutes later outside the employee locker room.
She entered carrying something beneath a linen cloth.
She left without it.
The hall exploded in whispers.
Greta lifted both hands.
“This is absurd.”
Alessandro looked at her.
The whispers died.
She swallowed.
“That footage can be manipulated.”
Dom said, “Timestamp verified. Server log clean.”
“You expect me to believe a child and a camera over thirty years of service?”
Alessandro’s voice was soft.
“I expect you to explain why you entered the gallery at two thirteen in the morning.”
Greta’s jaw tightened.
“I was checking inventory.”
“With the clock under a towel?”
“I moved it.”
“To Nora’s locker?”
“No.”
Dom tapped the tablet.
“Camera outside the locker room catches you entering.”
“Not the locker itself.”
There it was.
Her opening.
Greta straightened.
“So you have no proof I placed anything in Nora’s locker.”
Mia lifted her head from my shoulder.
“I saw you.”
Greta snapped toward her.
“You saw nothing.”
Mia flinched.
Alessandro took one step forward.
Greta stopped.
The entire mansion seemed to hold its breath.
“Do not raise your voice at the child.”
Greta looked at him.
Something moved across her face.
Not only fear.
Resentment.
That was stranger.
“Yes, sir.”
Alessandro turned to me.
“Where was Mia last night?”
“In my room.”
“All night?”
I hesitated.
Mia was three.
Her nights were unpredictable.
“She woke around two. I think.”
“You think?”
“I had a fever.”
The hall shifted.
That detail had not mattered until now.
I had come down sick after dinner.
Greta had been the one who handed me tea.
I looked at her.
She looked away.
Alessandro noticed.
“What kind of fever?”
“Chills. Headache. I slept badly.”
“Doctor?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I couldn’t afford—”
I stopped.
The sentence sounded ridiculous inside a mansion with gold molding.
Alessandro’s jaw tightened.
Not at me.
At the situation.
“Who made your tea?”
I looked at Greta.
She answered before I could.
“Kitchen did.”
Dom spoke.
“Kitchen says you requested it personally.”
Greta’s face changed.
Alessandro’s eyes became colder.
“What was in it?”
“Tea.”
“Dom.”
Dom nodded once and left.
Greta laughed.
This time it sounded desperate.
“Are we really investigating tea now?”
Alessandro said nothing.
That silence broke her faster than accusation.
She looked toward the front door.
Locked.
Two guards stood there.
Nobody left.
I felt Mia’s little heart beating against me.
“Mia.”
She looked up.
“When did you see Greta?”
She thought.
“Night.”
“Where?”
“Hall.”
“What were you doing out of bed?”
“Bunny fell.”
I looked at the stuffed rabbit.
One ear hung by a thread.
“You went looking for him?”
She nodded.
“He was by big stairs.”
Greta had probably thrown or moved the toy to get Mia out of the room.
Or maybe the rabbit had genuinely fallen.
I did not know.
Mia continued.
“I saw Miss Greta with shiny.”
“The clock?”
She nodded.
“Then?”
“She said go back.”
“What else?”
Mia stared at Greta.
Her face changed.
Fear.
“Baby?”
Mia whispered, “She said Mommy bad.”
Greta rolled her eyes.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
Alessandro’s head turned.
“Careful.”
Greta stopped.
Mia pressed closer to me.
“She said you take Mommy away.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
Mia started crying.
“She said police take you and I go bad house.”
I felt something inside me tear.
“Greta.”
My voice sounded unfamiliar.
“You told my three-year-old she would be taken away from me?”
Greta looked at Alessandro, not me.
“She was wandering around the mansion at night. I tried to scare her back to bed.”
The words were wrong the moment she spoke them.
Alessandro’s expression changed.
Scare her.
A child.
In his house.
I had worked around dangerous men before—at least, dangerous according to the rumors that followed Alessandro Conti. But I had never seen anyone in that mansion look as dangerous as he did when he became still.
He turned to Dom, who had returned carrying a small evidence bag.
“Kitchen found this beside the tea station.”
Inside was a torn paper packet.
Greta’s name handwritten on the corner.
Dom continued.
“Powdered sleep aid. Strong one. Staff nurse says enough residue remains to test.”
I stared.
“You drugged me?”
Greta snapped, “I did no such thing.”
“Then why was your packet there?”
“Because I use it for myself.”
“Why make Nora’s tea?”
“Because she was sick.”
Alessandro’s voice cut through us.
“Enough.”
Everyone went silent.
He looked at Dom.
“Preserve the packet. Call outside counsel. Get an independent laboratory.”
Greta’s face tightened.
“Outside?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t trust our own physician?”
Alessandro looked at her.
“No.”
That answer landed strangely.
Not because of the tea.
Because he said our physician.
As if distrust already existed.
Dom nodded.
Greta stared at Alessandro.
“You are destroying thirty years over a maid.”
I flinched.
Alessandro did not.
“Nora has a name.”
The exact simplicity of it changed the room.
Greta laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed.
“Of course what?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
Greta looked at Mia.
Then at me.
“Eight months.”
My skin prickled.
“What about eight months?”
Greta’s mouth twisted.
“Eight months she’s been here and already you’re carrying her child.”
The room froze.
I felt heat rise into my face.
Alessandro looked genuinely surprised.
Then cold.
“Choose your next sentence carefully.”
Greta realized how close she was to a line nobody crossed.
She stepped back.
“I only meant standards have changed.”
“What standards?”
Her voice shook.
“Your wife had standards.”
The hall went dead.
I knew Alessandro had been married.
Everyone knew.
Nobody spoke about her.
Isabella Conti had died four years earlier.
Car accident, according to staff gossip.
Some said it was not an accident.
Nobody said that where Alessandro could hear.
His face changed now.
A wound opening behind the eyes.
“What does Isabella have to do with Nora?”
Greta swallowed.
Nothing.
Too long.
Alessandro said, “Dom.”
Dom stepped forward.
“Take Greta to the east sitting room. She stays there until counsel arrives.”
Greta’s face exploded.
“You cannot detain me!”
“I can ask you to remain on private property while police are contacted regarding theft, evidence tampering, and possible poisoning.”
“Police?”
That word terrified her more than Alessandro.
Interesting.
She stepped backward.
“No.”
Dom stopped.
Greta looked toward me.
Then Mia.
Then Alessandro.
“You don’t understand what she is.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
Greta pointed at me.
“She did not come here by accident.”
The hall changed.
I stared at her.
“What are you talking about?”
Greta laughed once.
“You think your little sob story got you hired?”
My chest tightened.
I had applied through an agency.
Single mother.
Limited experience.
Needed housing.
The Conti mansion offered staff quarters and better pay than anything else I could find.
I had thought I was lucky.
Greta continued.
“You were placed here.”
Alessandro’s eyes sharpened.
“By who?”
Greta looked at him.
Fear returned.
“I won’t say.”
“Then police can ask.”
“You think police are outside this?”
The sentence made Dom stiffen.
Alessandro’s expression did not move.
“Outside what?”
Greta looked around the hall.
All those employees.
Witnesses.
She closed her mouth.
Alessandro understood.
“Everyone out.”
Dom turned.
“Now.”
The staff disappeared within a minute.
Only Alessandro, Dom, Greta, Mia, and I remained.
My arms were shaking.
Mia had stopped crying.
Children do that sometimes.
Adults reach panic while they simply observe.
Alessandro stepped closer to Greta.
“No threats. No audience. Explain.”
She looked at me.
“I want immunity.”
Dom almost laughed.
Alessandro said, “You are not negotiating with me.”
“Then I say nothing.”
He looked at her for a long time.
Then surprised all of us.
“Fine.”
Greta blinked.
Alessandro turned to Dom.
“Call the police.”
Greta panicked.
“Wait.”
Alessandro kept walking.
“Wait!”
He stopped.
Greta’s voice dropped.
“Nora was hired because someone wanted her inside your house.”
I felt the floor tilt.
“Who?”
Greta looked at Mia.
Then me.
“I don’t know the name.”
“Liar,” Dom said.
“I know the instruction came through Mrs. Conti’s old household trust.”
Alessandro turned slowly.
“Isabella’s trust?”
Greta nodded.
My skin went cold.
His dead wife had been involved in my hiring?
Impossible.
Greta continued.
“Every year, the trust sends a list. Charitable placements. Staff recommendations. People to help.”
Alessandro said nothing.
I remembered the agency telling me an anonymous benefactor had paid the placement fee.
I had not asked.
I had been desperate.
Greta looked at me.
“Nora’s name was marked priority.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Who added it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do you know?”
Greta’s eyes hardened.
“That I was told to watch her.”
Alessandro’s voice was low.
“By who?”
She looked at him.
“Your mother.”
The room went silent.
I had never met Elena Conti.
Most staff never had.
She lived at the family estate in Sicily and had not visited New York in three years.
Alessandro’s relationship with her was rarely discussed.
But everyone knew one thing.
Elena Conti still had influence.
Even over men who feared her son.
Alessandro’s face went unreadable.
“What did my mother want?”
Greta whispered, “To know whether Nora remembered.”
I stared.
“Remembered what?”
Greta looked at me.
For the first time, she did not look cruel.
She looked afraid for me.
“The night Isabella died.”
My breath stopped.
“I didn’t know Isabella.”
Greta whispered, “You did.”
“No.”
“You were there.”
I stepped backward.
“That’s impossible.”
Mia started fidgeting.
Alessandro watched me.
Not accusing.
Searching.
I shook my head.
“I never met your wife.”
Greta looked at my daughter.
Then at me.
“You don’t remember because you were in the other car.”
The room vanished.
Other car.
Headlights.
Rain.
A scream.
For one second, something flashed behind my eyes.
Not memory.
A fragment.
Broken glass.
A woman’s hand.
Someone saying, Run.
I grabbed the edge of a table.
Alessandro moved toward me.
“Nora?”
“I’m fine.”
I wasn’t.
Greta whispered, “You survived the crash that killed Isabella Conti.”
I stared at her.
“I was never in a crash.”
“You were.”
“No.”
“You woke in St. Vincent’s under another name.”
My chest tightened.
“No.”
“Three days missing from your memory.”
I stopped breathing.
There was a period.
Years ago.
Before Mia.
A hospitalization my mother said came from a fall.
Concussion.
I remembered waking.
Head bandage.
No phone.
No details.
My mother had refused to discuss it.
She died two years later.
I had never questioned the story.
Greta saw recognition.
“There.”
Alessandro turned toward me.
“What do you remember?”
“Nothing.”
That was almost true.
Then Mia tugged my collar.
“Mommy?”
I looked down.
She held out her broken rabbit.
Something hard protruded from the torn ear.
A tiny black object.
Dom saw it first.
“What is that?”
I pulled it free.
A microSD card.
Everyone stared.
Mia said, “Bunny had secret.”
My skin went cold.
I had bought that rabbit from a thrift store before Mia was born.
Or I thought I had.
Greta whispered, “Oh God.”
Alessandro looked at her.
“You know what it is.”
She backed away.
“No.”
“You do.”
Greta’s lips trembled.
“That card was supposed to be destroyed four years ago.”
I stared at the tiny piece of plastic in my hand.
A clock.
A frame job.
A dead wife.
A missing memory.
And now a secret hidden inside my three-year-old daughter’s stuffed rabbit.
Alessandro looked at Dom.
“Air-gapped machine. No network. Counsel present.”
Then he looked at me.
“You stay with Mia.”
“What’s on it?”
Greta answered before he could.
“Proof.”
“Of what?”
She looked directly at Alessandro.
May you like
“Of who really killed Isabella.”
And just like that, the jeweled clock stopped being the most important thing anyone had stolen.
