Chapter 15 - The Keypad Code
Midnight transformed the Ashford estate into a mausoleum of cold shadows. Outside, a late October gale whipped across Lake Briar, driving dark waves against the rocky shore and rattling the enormous floor-to-ceiling glass panels of the ground floor. Inside, the only light came from the luminescent displays of the home automation panels mounted on the walls.
Ethan met Nora at the top of the servant's staircase, barefoot, wearing dark jeans and a black sweater. His eyes were wide with terrified determination.
"Richard fell asleep in his study," Ethan whispered, leaning close so his voice was barely audible over the roaring wind outside. "He drank the scotch my mother poured for him. He won't wake up until dawn. She gave him enough sleeping medication to knock out a horse."
"Where is Vivienne?" Nora asked, holding Lily securely wrapped against her chest in a dark sling beneath her heavy coat.
"In the master suite, reviewing financial documents with her offshore lawyers on a private line," Ethan replied. "She thinks she's untouchable. But I found the override code for Claire's door. It wasn't in her desk. It was written in the back of my mother's daily planner—the date my grandfather died and left Claire the trust."
They moved swiftly down the western corridor, their footsteps soundless against the carpet. The air grew progressively colder as they approached the isolated room. Ethan stepped in front of the heavy mahogany door, his hands trembling as he punched seven digits into the illuminated keypad: *0-9-1-4-1-9-8-2*.
A sharp mechanical chime cut through the stillness, followed by the heavy clunk of a deadbolt releasing. Ethan pushed the door open.
The room inside was a nightmare masquerading as a convalescent suite. Heavy blackout curtains completely sealed the windows, blocking any view of the lake. There were no clocks, no calendars, and no personal belongings—only an adjustable hospital bed, a bedside monitor displaying erratic vital signs, and a mountain of empty prescription bottles on a laminate table.
Lying in the center of the bed was a young woman with hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and long, tangled chestnut hair that spilled over pale, sweat-sheened shoulders. Her breathing was shallow, hitched to the plastic mask strapped over her face.
At the sound of the door opening, Claire flinched violently, raising a bruised, needle-marked arm to shield her face from the hall light.
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"Please..." the woman wept, her voice barely a rasp. "I took the pills... Vivienne, please, just let me see my baby..."
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