Chapter 7 - [THE WHISPER IN THE LAUNDRY CHUTE]
I stared at the tiny, blinking red light pressed against Sophie’s skin.
It was an audio transmitter. A bug.
Vanessa hadn’t just snuck into the safe room to cover up the bruise so the CPS workers wouldn't see it. She had planted a microphone on an eight-year-old girl to listen to everything Luca was planning.
“What is that?” Teresa asked, leaning closer, her poor eyesight struggling in the dim room.
I put my finger over my lips, signaling for her to be absolutely silent.
I pointed to the blinking light, then pointed to my ear.
Teresa’s eyes widened in horror. She covered her mouth with both hands to stifle a gasp.
My mind raced. If Vanessa was listening right now, she knew Luca was calling his lawyers. She knew we were in the safe room. She probably heard Teresa and me talking about the laundry chute.
I had to get it off Sophie without waking her, and without making Vanessa suspicious.
I tiptoed to the en-suite bathroom, turned on the sink faucet to a low, steady stream to create white noise, and grabbed a pair of heavy medical shears from the first-aid kit under the counter.
I walked back to the bed.
I carefully slid the cold, flat edge of the shears underneath the silver bangle, making sure not to pinch Sophie’s skin.
Snip.
The metal snapped cleanly.
I pulled the bracelet away. The red light continued to blink in my palm.
I leaned in close to the tiny microphone and whispered, “She’s sleeping soundly, Mrs. Moretti. I think we’re safe in here for the night.”
Then, I walked into the bathroom and dropped the bracelet straight down the laundry chute.
It clattered loudly against the aluminum walls as it fell three stories down to the basement.
I shut the chute panel and locked it from the inside.
When I returned to the bedroom, Teresa was shaking uncontrollably.
“She’s a monster,” the old woman whispered, her voice barely holding together. “Hannah, we can’t wait for Luca’s lawyers. By morning, Vanessa’s people will be everywhere. They’re going to take my granddaughter.”
“They won’t,” I said fiercely, though my own heart was hammering with fear.
“You don’t know Carlo Bellini,” Teresa insisted, gripping my arm. “Vanessa’s father pays off judges. He pays off social workers. If CPS shows up tomorrow, they won’t be objective. They’ll be on the Bellini payroll.”
I knew she was right. Luca was fighting a rigged game.
“Then we have to get Sophie out of the house,” I said.
Teresa shook her head. “The security gates are locked. Luca’s men are guarding the perimeter, but half of them take orders from Marco, and Marco... I don't trust him, Hannah.”
“Marco is Luca’s most loyal man,” I argued.
“He was,” Teresa corrected bitterly. “Until Vanessa promised him a promotion to Vice President of the family business once she’s married.”
My blood ran cold.
If the head of security was compromised, there was no safe way out of the mansion. We were sitting ducks.
I looked down at the torn photograph still resting in my apron pocket. The picture of Elena. The proof of the brake tampering.
“We don’t need to leave the house,” I realized aloud. “We just need to make sure the CPS workers see the truth before Vanessa can manipulate them.”
I turned to Teresa. “Mrs. Moretti, where is your new doctor’s office? The one who prescribed you those fake memory pills?”
Teresa frowned. “Dr. Evans? His clinic is downtown. But why?”
“Because if Vanessa is blackmailing Luca with a CPS report about your senility and Sophie’s safety, we need proof that the abuse is coming from her, not Luca. We need the medical records showing she authorized those sedatives.”
“But the clinic is locked. It’s 2:00 AM.”
“I know,” I said. “But I know someone who can get inside.”
I pulled out my cell phone. I hadn’t used it all night.
I dialed a number I hadn’t called since I was nineteen years old.
It rang three times before a gruff, sleepy voice answered.
“Yeah?”
“Uncle Tommy,” I whispered. “It’s Hannah.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Tommy Collins wasn’t my real uncle. He was my mother’s old mechanic, a man who had taught me how to fix carburetors, and occasionally, how to pick a deadbolt when customers locked their keys in their cars.
“Hannah?” he croaked. “Kid, it’s the middle of the night. Is your mom okay?”
“Mom’s fine,” I said quickly. “But I need a favor. A big one. I need you to break into a medical clinic downtown and pull a file for me.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Tommy hissed. “I’m on probation!”
“Tommy, please. A little girl’s life is in danger. If I don’t have this file by 8:00 AM, a corrupt family is going to take her away from her father.”
I heard him sigh heavily. The scrape of a lighter, then the sharp inhale of a cigarette.
“Give me the address,” he grumbled.
I fed him Dr. Evans’ clinic address and the specific patient file to look for.
“I’ll leave the file in the glovebox of your rusted-out Chevy behind the house,” Tommy said. “You owe me big time, kid.”
“Thank you,” I breathed, hanging up.
I turned back to Teresa. “We’re going to be okay.”
But before the words fully left my mouth, the master bedroom lights flickered and suddenly died.
The entire mansion plunged into pitch black darkness.
Teresa gasped, grabbing my hand.
From the hallway outside the safe room, the sound of heavy, booted footsteps approached.
Not one person.
A dozen.
Someone banged a heavy fist against the steel door.
“Open the door, Hannah,” Marco’s voice echoed through the metal.
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“Mr. Moretti has been detained by the police. By order of the future Mrs. Moretti, you are fired. Surrender the child.”
TITLE: THE EXILE AND THE EMPTY CRIB
