B15. THE BILLIONAIRE’S WIFE THREW A NEWBORN BABY OFF THE BALCONY AND SCREAMED, “THEN CATCH HER!” BUT SHE NEVER EXPECTED THE HOUSEKEEPER TO SAVE THE BABY—OR THE TEENAGE BOY TO RECORD EVERYTHING. WHAT HAPPENED NEXT DESTROYED HER PERFECT LIFE!

The private security firm Daniel hired had placed two guards outside their suburban home. But money, as Daniel had learned the hard way, could buy betrayal just as easily as protection.

It was 2:15 AM. A violent thunderstorm was lashing the coast, heavy rain drumming against the skylights like a thousand tiny hammers.

Emily woke suddenly, her skin prickling with an instinct as old as motherhood. The house was too quiet. The rhythmic, low-frequency hum of the baby monitor on her nightstand had stopped. The screen was black.

"Daniel," she whispered, shaking his shoulder. "Daniel, wake up. The monitor is dead."

Daniel sat up instantly, reaching for the bedside lamp. The switch clicked, but no light came on. The power was out.

"Stay here," Daniel said, pulling a heavy tactical flashlight from the nightstand drawer. He moved silently toward the hallway, his bare feet gripping the cold oak floorboards.

The hallway was pitch black. At the end of the corridor, the door to Grace’s nursery was slightly ajar. A faint, sickening smell hung in the air—the sharp, sweet stench of chloroform mingled with expensive French perfume.

*Lauren's perfume.*

Daniel’s blood turned to fire. He sprinted down the hall and shoved the nursery door open, sweeping the beam of the flashlight across the room.

The crib was empty.

"EMILY!" Daniel roared, a sound torn from the deepest depths of a father's soul.

Emily burst into the nursery, taking in the empty mattress with its tossed mobile and single white sock. She fell to her knees, screaming Grace's name into the darkness.

"Look," Daniel choked, his flashlight beam trembling violently as he pointed it toward the rocking chair in the corner of the nursery.

Grace was not there. But resting on the cushion was Grace's favorite stuffed rabbit—its throat slashed open with a precision blade, the white cotton stuffing spilling onto the floral fabric. Pinned to the rabbit's chest with a six-inch surgical needle was a handwritten note on heavy cream stationery:

*You took my freedom for a year. I’m taking your peace for a lifetime. Bring the key to the estate terrace by dawn, or Grace learns how to fly without Rosa to catch her.*

Beside the chair, on the nursery balcony door that led out to the second-story deck, the deadbolt had been picked cleanly from the outside. The French doors were swinging open in the wind, rain spraying across the hardwood floor.