Chapter 3 - The Setup Exposed
Inside the security gatehouse at the entrance of the Hawthorne estate, the warm heating hummed softly against the rain outside.
Emily had retrieved the emergency first-aid kit from the guard station. She sat on the small leather bench, carefully cleaning Noah’s bleeding arm with antiseptic. The little boy winced, but he kept his eyes locked on Emily’s face, holding her left hand with his tiny fingers.
"You're so brave, Noah," Emily whispered, wiping away a tear from his cheek. "All three of you are the bravest boys in the world."
"Are you coming back home with us, Miss Emily?" Liam asked, his thumb resting near his mouth. "The house is dark and scary without you."
Emily swallowed a lump of pure grief in her throat. She looked down at her stained housekeeper apron. Less than twenty minutes ago, Richard Hawthorne had stood over her in the grand foyer, calling her an ungrateful criminal, accusing her of betraying the trust he had placed in her for three years. The words had ripped her heart open.
"I don't know, sweetie," Emily murmured quietly.
Outside the gatehouse glass, the heavy oak doors of the main mansion slammed open.
Richard marched into the security control room accompanied by two imposing, suit-clad men—his chief of private security, Marcus, and two armed guards. Richard walked over to the primary surveillance console, his face carved out of stone.
"Plug this drive into the isolated terminal," Richard commanded, throwing the blood-stained drive onto the desk.
Marcus immediately grabbed the drive, wiping the crimson smudge off with a microfiber cloth before inserting it into the encrypted workstation. "Mr. Hawthorne, what are we looking for?"
"Everything," Richard growled, leaning over the console.
The terminal screen flickered to life. A series of hidden video files appeared, timestamped over the last seventy-two hours.
The security camera angle was strange—it was taken from a hidden miniature nanny-cam disguised as a smoke detector inside the master study. Victoria had installed it weeks ago to spy on Richard’s safe codes, completely unaware that the internal memory was automatically archiving onto a secondary backup drive—the very drive Ethan had managed to yank out of the wall before escaping.
Marcus clicked the first video file from earlier that morning.
On the high-definition monitor, Victoria appeared in the frame. She was wearing her silk robe, standing in front of Richard’s open desk drawer. She picked up Richard’s limited-edition platinum Rolex—the watch his late wife had gifted him before she passed.
The video captured Victoria’s low, malicious chuckle as she walked out of the study, sneaked into the laundry room, and slipped the heavy watch directly into the side pocket of Emily’s hanging uniform apron.
"My God," Marcus breathed, staring at the screen in utter shock.
Richard’s hands slammed down onto the desk so hard the monitors shook. His eyes bloodshot, he watched the next video file.
The second video showed Victoria in the hallway outside the nursery. She was on a phone call, her voice loud and clear through the audio feed.
"I framed the peasant girl," Victoria’s voice sneered through the speakers. "Richard threw her out like garbage five minutes ago. Now there's no one left in this house to protect those little brat triplets. Tomorrow night, during the storm, make sure the gas line in the nursery is loosened. When the house goes up, Richard will be broken... and I’ll inherit the entire Hawthorne estate as his grieving widow-to-be."
The room went dead silent.
Marcus turned to Richard, his hand instinctively resting on his sidearm. "Sir... this is an attempt at multi-count murder and high-level fraud."
Richard closed his eyes for three long seconds. The betrayal burned through his veins like acid, but even stronger than the betrayal was a terrifying realization:
He had almost delivered his three innocent sons straight into the hands of a sociopath. He had banished the only woman who truly loved his children, all because of his own arrogant pride and Victoria’s poison.
"Where is she?" Richard asked, his voice chillingly quiet.
"She’s waiting in the main foyer, sir," a guard reported. "She thinks you're filling out a police report against Miss Carter."
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Richard straightened his posture, buttoning his wet suit jacket with terrifying composure.
"Call the Commissioner of Police," Richard commanded. "And tell him to send every squad car in the district. I want Victoria Sterling taken down in front of every news camera in New York."
