Chapter 4 - THE KEY TO ROOM 404
The brass key felt heavy in my palm.
The number 404 caught the light of the crystal chandelier.
Victor Vance stared at the key, a grim smile touching his scarred face.
“She did it,” Victor murmured. “She actually managed to hide it.”
“What does it open?” Luca asked, his voice echoing in the silent foyer.
Victor shook his head. “I don’t know. Clara only told me she secured the evidence. She said the key would lead you to the person who killed her.”
Answer One: Clara left a physical trail of breadcrumbs to her killer.
Luca carefully took the key from my hand. He ran his thumb over the engraved numbers.
His face suddenly went pale.
“I know what this is,” Luca whispered.
He looked up at his security chief, a towering man named Marcus, who stood near the stairs.
“Marcus,” Luca ordered. “Lock down the estate. Nobody leaves. Not the guests, not the staff.”
Marcus nodded, immediately speaking into his radio.
“Where does it go?” I asked, keeping my arm wrapped around Isabella.
“It doesn’t go to a bank,” Luca said, his eyes darkening with a terrifying realization. “It goes to a room. Upstairs. In the west wing.”
The west wing.
Open Two: Why would Clara hide the evidence in a room inside the house?
I had cleaned this mansion for eleven months. The west wing was the staff quarters. It was where the maids, cooks, and drivers lived.
“Room 404,” Luca said, his voice tightening. “That’s your bedroom, Emma.”
I froze.
“My room?” I stammered. “But… I didn’t live here when Clara died. That room was empty for months before I was hired.”
“Exactly,” Victor interrupted. “She knew it would be assigned to the new girl. She hid it in the one place Bianca wouldn’t dare search—the filthy maid’s quarters.”
Luca didn’t wait. He grabbed his gun from his shoulder holster.
“Emma, bring Isabella. Stay behind me.”
We hurried up the grand staircase, leaving the panicked dinner guests behind. Victor followed closely, his hands casually shoved into his trench coat pockets.
The hallway to the staff quarters was narrow and dimly lit.
My heart hammered against my ribs as we approached the wooden door with the brass 404 nailed to the front.
Luca inserted the heavy, rusted key into the old lock.
It clicked.
He pushed the door open, his gun raised.
The room was exactly as I had left it. A single twin bed, a small wooden dresser, and a faded rug.
“Where is it?” Luca asked, scanning the small space.
I stepped inside, looking around in desperation.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve cleaned every inch of this room. There’s nothing hidden here.”
Victor leaned against the doorframe. “Think, Emma. Did you ever find anything strange? A loose floorboard? A hollow drawer?”
I shook my head frantically. “No, nothing. The only thing in this room that isn’t mine is the old vanity mirror bolted to the wall.”
Luca walked over to the mirror. It was a heavy, antique piece with thick silver backing.
He gripped the edges and pulled.
The entire mirror swung outward on hidden hinges.
Behind it was a small, dark cavity in the wall.
Reversal: The hiding spot was brilliant, but it was empty.
Luca stared into the dark hole.
“It’s gone,” he whispered.
“What?” Victor pushed past him, peering into the cavity.
There were no documents. No ledger. No proof of murder.
But the cavity wasn’t entirely empty.
Sitting on the bottom ledge, covered in a thin layer of dust, was an object.
Luca reached in and pulled it out.
It was a delicate, gold charm bracelet.
I recognized it instantly.
It didn’t belong to Clara.
It belonged to Bianca.
“She beat us to it,” Victor said, his voice laced with disgust. “Bianca found the evidence and took it. She left her bracelet to mock Clara.”
My stomach plummeted. If Bianca had the evidence, she had likely destroyed it. Clara’s justice was gone forever.
But Isabella stepped forward.
She looked at the gold bracelet dangling from her father’s fingers.
She frowned.
“Daddy,” Isabella said softly. “That’s not Bianca’s bracelet.”
Luca stopped. “What do you mean, Bella? She wears this all the time.”
Isabella shook her head.
“Bianca’s bracelet has a little gold star on it. This one has a little gold moon.”
I looked closer. Isabella was right. The charm was a crescent moon.
“Who does it belong to, sweetheart?” Luca asked, dropping to his knees.
Isabella pointed toward the hallway.
Toward the towering security chief who had followed us upstairs.
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“It belongs to Mr. Marcus,” she whispered. “He bought it for his wife last Christmas.”
TITLE: The Traitor In The Hallway
