Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Servants’ Quarters
That evening, a heavy, suffocating thunderstorm rolled across Lake Michigan, lashing sheets of cold rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Mercer estate.
Vanessa was in downtown Chicago attending a charity auction committee dinner—an event Graham had successfully begged out of by claiming a severe dizzy spell.
As soon as her black Mercedes cleared the security gates, Graham moved.
He didn't use the grand front stairs. He pulled on a dark waterproof jacket, stepped out into the pouring rain, and made his way across the wet slate courtyard toward the carriage house in the back.
The carriage house was warm, smelling faintly of vanilla and damp wool.
When Graham knocked lightly on the door of apartment 2B, it opened a crack. Nora peered out, her eyes widening in immediate panic when she saw who it was.
“Mr. Mercer... you shouldn't be out here. If Ms. Hale’s driver comes back early—”
“She’s in the city until midnight, Nora,” Graham interrupted calmly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
In the corner of the small, tidy living room, little Lily sat on a braided rug, coloring in a dinosaur book with a box of crayons. When she looked up and saw Graham, her solemn expression softened. She laid down her crayon, raised her small hands, and signed a greeting: “Hello, Graham.”
Graham smiled faintly, crouching down to her level. “Hello, Lily.”
Nora wrung her hands nervously, standing by the kitchenette. “Mr. Mercer, why are you here? If Ms. Hale finds out you came to our quarters—”
“She won't find out,” Graham promised, standing back up to face the housekeeper. “Nora, I had my blood tested in Zurich. The tonic she’s been giving me is poisoned with a neurotoxin. She’s trying to incapacitate me.”
Nora let out a strangled gasp, clapping both hands over her mouth to stifle a scream. Tears welled instantly in her eyes. “Oh, dear God... I knew it. I knew she was a monster.”
“I need your help, Nora,” Graham said, his voice dropping into a steady, persuasive rhythm. “Vanessa keeps her private stash—the dropper bottles, the pharmaceutical logs—somewhere in the main house. Probably in her private dressing room safe or her vanity lockbox. I need to find it.”
Nora shook her head frantically, stepping backward. “No, no, Mr. Mercer! Her dressing room is locked with a digital keypad. Only she and the security contractor have the code. If we touch anything, she’ll know!”
“She won't know if we don't break in,” Graham replied smoothly. “She’s arrogant. Narcissistic people like Vanessa always leave a backdoor open because they believe nobody is smart enough to outsmart them. Does she leave her private tablet or master key card anywhere predictable?”
Nora hesitated, her chest heaving as fear and loyalty warred inside her. She looked down at Lily, who was watching them with wide, perceptive eyes, then back up at Graham.
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“When she’s getting ready for galas,” Nora whispered reluctantly, “she always leaves her leather Smythson planner on the cherrywood console in the main foyer. Inside the front cover... she keeps a backup physical key card for the west wing panic room and the dressing room override.”
Graham’s jaw tightened. “Show me.”
