Chapter 2 - THE GIRL IN HELENA’S PHOTOGRAPHJulian did not allow anyone to touch the memory card.
He closed Nora’s hand around the locket and asked Dr. Samuel Reed, the Hawthorne family physician, to examine her in the blue sitting room. Then he ordered Marcus Vale, his head of security, to seal the ballroom without alarming the guests.
“No one leaves until the police arrive,” Julian said.
Camille gave a brittle laugh.
“You cannot imprison two hundred people because a maid brought a piece of obsolete plastic into your house.”
“I can delay departures from a private event after witnessing an assault.”
“I did not assault her.”
Dozens of phones had recorded otherwise.
Julian looked at the riding crop lying on the marble.
“Don’t insult both of us.”
Camille folded her arms and moved toward her father, Senator Victor Prescott. Victor had arrived while the doctor was helping Nora stand. He was sixty-two, silver-haired, and so practiced at appearing calm that reporters often mistook calculation for dignity.
He placed himself between his daughter and the nearest cameras.
“This is a family misunderstanding,” Victor announced.
Nora flinched when she heard his voice.
Julian saw it.
Victor saw him see it.
The blue sitting room had once belonged to Helena. Its walls were lined with botanical paintings and shelves of old novels. Nora sat on a velvet sofa while Dr. Reed cleaned the cut at her temple.
“No stitches,” he said. “But you may have a mild concussion. You need imaging if you become dizzy or nauseated.”
Nora nodded.
Her eyes stayed on the door.
Julian stood several feet away to avoid crowding her. He wanted answers, but the sight of the welt across her face made every urgent question feel selfish.
“Did Camille strike you only once?” Dr. Reed asked.
Nora hesitated.
“With the crop, once. She slapped me before that.”
“Why?”
“She saw the necklace.”
Julian’s attention sharpened.
“Before the champagne fell?”
“Yes.”
Nora explained that she had been assigned to refresh flowers in the upper gallery. Camille appeared from Helena’s sealed bedroom and grabbed Nora by the collar. When the chain became visible, Camille demanded the locket.
Nora refused.
Camille followed her downstairs, seized a champagne flute from the tray, and poured it over her own gown.
“Then she knocked the tray from my hands,” Nora said. “She wanted everyone to think I attacked her.”
Julian felt something cold settle behind his ribs.
“Why was she inside my mother’s room?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why were you near it?”
Nora’s fingers tightened around the locket.
“Because the last thing my mother said before she disappeared was that Helena had hidden a second message at Alderwyn.”
“Your mother knew mine?”
“She worked for her.”
Julian searched his memory.
Helena had employed dozens of attendants, nurses, secretaries, and estate workers. After her death, Malcolm dismissed most of them. Julian had been twenty-one, angry and half-broken. He signed whatever was placed in front of him.
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Evelyn Bennett.”
The room tilted.
Julian remembered Evelyn.
She had been Helena’s private assistant. Quiet. Precise. Always carrying a green notebook. Police accused her of stealing the locket and confidential company papers after Helena died. A warrant was issued, but Evelyn vanished before investigators could question her.
“They said she ran because she was guilty,” Julian said.
Nora’s expression hardened.
“She ran because someone tried to kill us.”
For the first time, her fear gave way to anger.
“She hid me with a church volunteer in Bridgeport. She promised she would return after she gave evidence to a detective. She never came back.”
“How old were you?”
“Six.”
The same age as the child in Helena’s photograph.
Julian looked at the locket.
“Why keep it if it placed you in danger?”
“Because Helena died to keep it away from them.”
The door opened.
Marcus entered with a clear evidence pouch and a small card reader.
“The state police are on their way,” he said. “Our digital forensics director can make a protected copy without altering the original. But there is another problem.”
“What?” Julian asked.
“Someone attempted to access the estate surveillance server nine minutes ago.”
“From where?”
Marcus looked toward the ceiling.
“Helena’s bedroom.”
Nora stood too quickly and swayed.
Julian caught her elbow, then released it immediately when she stiffened.
“Camille was there,” Nora said.
Marcus shook his head.
“Camille has been visible in the ballroom since Mr. Hawthorne arrived.”
“Then who is upstairs?”
Julian turned toward the door.
At that moment, every light in Alderwyn Estate went out.
The chandeliers died.
Guests screamed in the ballroom.
Emergency lamps flickered red along the hallway.
Then came the sound of footsteps running above them.
Marcus reached for his radio.
Only static answered.
Nora opened the locket again.
The small photograph was gone.
Someone had removed it while Dr. Reed treated her wound.
But the memory card remained.
Nora told Julian how she reached Alderwyn. After aging out of foster care, she worked in laundries, kitchens, and private homes while searching public archives for Helena’s name. Three months earlier, an agency recruiter unexpectedly contacted her after she applied to a hotel.
The recruiter said the estate needed temporary staff for the engagement.
“I thought someone inside wanted me here,” Nora said.
Marcus checked the recruiter’s address. The agency existed, but the account that contacted Nora had been created through a server used by Hawthorne Global security.
Someone had not merely watched Nora.
Someone had brought her to Alderwyn on the exact night two hundred witnesses would be present.
That did not fit Malcolm’s desire to keep the locket hidden. It suggested another person inside the conspiracy wanted the secret exposed but was too frightened to step forward.
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Whoever entered the room had wanted Julian to see the evidence.
And had taken the one image that proved Nora was with Helena on the night she died.
