Chapter 1 - Forty Hours
“Why not?”
Clara looked at the photograph again.
For a moment, she could still see Arthur Sterling exactly as he had been eleven years earlier.
His tie had been hanging loose around his neck.
His expensive white shirt had been wrinkled beyond saving.
His eyes had been red from exhaustion.
Yet every time one of the nurses offered to take the newborn from him so he could sleep, Arthur had refused.
“Because you stopped breathing twice during your first night,” Clara said quietly.
Leo’s fingers froze against the photograph.
“What?”
“You were born early.”
Clara pulled a chair closer to him.
“The doctors said your lungs were weak.”
“Was I sick?”
“For a little while.”
Leo lowered his eyes.
“And Dad stayed?”
“He never left.”
A faint smile appeared on Clara’s face.
“Your grandfather sent a driver.”
“Your aunt sent flowers.”
“Half of Newport sent something.”
“But your father stayed beside that little hospital bed for forty hours.”
Leo looked down at the photograph again.
“Did he hold me the whole time?”
“Whenever the nurses allowed him.”
Leo swallowed.
Clara saw his lower lip tighten.
He was trying not to cry.
He had become very good at that.
Children who were comforted cried loudly.
Children who learned that nobody would come usually learned to cry without making noise.
Clara hated that Leo had become the second kind.
“He used to talk to you,” she continued.
“What did he say?”
“Mostly nonsense.”
Leo gave her a suspicious look.
“Like what?”
“He told you about baseball.”
“I hate baseball.”
“You were three days old.”
“He should’ve asked.”
Clara laughed.
Leo smiled.
For a few seconds, the enormous library did not feel empty.
Then his expression changed again.
“Did he know I was going to be like this?”
Leo glanced toward his braces.
Clara followed his eyes.
The polished metal supports rested against the side of his chair.
She understood what he meant.
“No.”
“But if he did?”
Clara leaned forward.
“He would still have stayed forty hours.”
Leo stared at her.
“How do you know?”
“Because I knew your father.”
That answer seemed to matter.
More than Clara expected.
Leo placed the Polaroid against his chest.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then his gaze moved toward the library doors.
“Eleanor says he was disappointed in me.”
Clara went completely still.
“What did you say?”
Leo immediately looked uncomfortable.
“She didn’t mean it exactly like that.”
“What did she say exactly?”
He hesitated.
Clara waited.
Finally, Leo whispered, “She said Dad wanted a son who could someday run Sterling Energy.”
Clara’s jaw tightened.
“She said after the accident, that became impossible.”
“That is not true.”
“She said Grandpa knows it too.”
“Leo.”
Clara lowered her voice.
“Look at me.”
He did.
“Your father never measured your worth by whether you could run a company.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me.”
Leo blinked.
“When?”
Clara almost answered.
Then she stopped.
There were things she had never told Leo.
Things she had convinced herself were not hers to tell.
Arthur had spoken often during the months before the helicopter crash.
At first, his worries had sounded like ordinary family disagreements.
Business disagreements.
Arguments over money.
Arguments over succession.
Arguments over what would happen if Richard Sterling ever stepped away from the empire he had created.
Then Arthur’s tone had changed.
He had started asking strange questions.
Who entered Leo’s rooms?
Who handled his medical records?
Who signed invoices for the private physicians?
Who opened mail addressed to Arthur when Arthur was traveling?
Once, in the pantry, he had asked Clara whether she had ever seen Eleanor inside his office after midnight.
At the time, Clara had thought he was becoming suspicious because of stress.
Then Arthur died.
And everybody stopped asking questions.
“Clara?”
Leo pulled her back into the present.
She forced herself to smile.
“He told me that the company belonged to adults.”
“What?”
“He said your job was to be a child.”
Leo stared at her.
“That sounds like Dad?”
“Exactly like him.”
Leo smiled again.
Then he looked toward the Polaroid.
“Can I keep this?”
Clara hesitated.
She had protected the photograph for eleven years.
But it had never truly belonged to her.
“Yes.”
Leo’s face brightened.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He tucked it carefully inside the pocket of his sweater.
Then the library door opened.
Eleanor Sterling stood in the doorway.
Her emerald evening dress fit perfectly.
Her blond hair had been pinned into a flawless twist.
Diamond earrings caught the fading light.
Her expression did not change when she saw Clara sitting beside Leo.
But her eyes immediately dropped toward Leo’s pocket.
“What are you doing in here?”
The question was addressed to Clara.
“Checking the curtains before tomorrow’s luncheon.”
Eleanor looked around the room.
“With the boy?”
Leo’s smile disappeared.
Clara stood.
“Leo was keeping me company.”
Eleanor entered.
“Leo has mathematics at six.”
“It was canceled.”
“By whom?”
“Mr. Pike called this afternoon.”
“And nobody informed me?”
Clara almost pointed out that Eleanor had spent the afternoon having her hair styled in Providence.
Instead, she said, “His assistant left a message.”
Eleanor’s gaze returned to Leo.
“Go upstairs.”
Leo glanced at Clara.
“Now.”
He reached for his braces.
Clara moved instinctively to assist him.
Eleanor raised one hand.
“Leave him.”
Clara stopped.
Leo’s face reddened.
He fastened the braces himself.
The task took longer than it should have because one hinge had started catching again.
Clara had already scheduled someone to inspect it the following morning.
Eleanor watched without helping.
When Leo finally stood, he steadied himself against the chair.
Then he slowly made his way toward the door.
He had almost reached it when Eleanor spoke.
“What is in your pocket?”
Leo stopped.
“Nothing.”
“Show me.”
Clara saw panic flash through his face.
“It is only a photograph,” she said.
Eleanor turned.
“What photograph?”
Leo pulled the Polaroid halfway from his pocket.
Eleanor crossed the room and snatched it from his hand.
Her face changed.
Only slightly.
But Clara saw it.
The moment Eleanor recognized Arthur, something cold appeared behind her eyes.
“Where did you get this?”
“Clara gave it to me.”
Eleanor looked at Clara.
“That was not yours to give.”
“It belonged to Arthur.”
“It belonged to this family.”
“So does Leo.”
The words came out before Clara could stop them.
Silence filled the library.
Eleanor’s expression hardened.
Leo stared at the carpet.
Clara had challenged Eleanor before.
Never quite so directly.
Finally, Eleanor handed the photograph back to Leo.
“Go upstairs.”
Leo obeyed.
When the door closed, Eleanor moved closer to Clara.
“You have become very comfortable here.”
“I have worked here for ten years.”
“That is not what I meant.”
Clara met her eyes.
“Then what did you mean?”
Eleanor smiled.
It was the kind of smile used at charity galas before a knife was inserted politely between someone’s ribs.
“Employees sometimes confuse familiarity with belonging.”
“I have never been confused about my position.”
“Good.”
Eleanor walked toward the window.
Outside, the last strip of sunlight had disappeared over the trees.
“My brother had that problem.”
Clara frowned.
“What problem?”
“He trusted people beneath him too easily.”
Clara felt anger rise in her chest.
“Arthur respected people.”
“My brother was sentimental.”
“He was decent.”
Eleanor turned around.
“And he is dead.”
The sentence landed harder than Clara expected.
Eleanor walked past her.
At the doorway, she stopped.
“You should remember that sentimentality is rarely rewarded in this family.”
Then she left.
Clara remained alone in the library.
For several minutes, she did not move.
Something about Eleanor’s words bothered her.
Not simply their cruelty.
There had been something underneath them.
Something almost defensive.
Clara walked to the desk where she had kept the photograph.
She opened the bottom drawer.
The stack of estate documents remained exactly where she had left it.
But one detail was different.
A small brass key lay at the back of the drawer.
Clara stared at it.
She had never seen it before.
She picked it up.
A narrow paper tag had been tied to the ring.
One word was written across it in faded blue ink.
ARTHUR.
Clara’s heart began to beat faster.
She checked the doorway.
Empty.
Then she examined the key.
It was old.
Too small for a room.
Too large for a desk drawer.
She thought of Arthur’s office.
The room had remained locked since his death.
Richard had ordered it preserved for several months.
Then Eleanor announced that everything inside had been removed and placed in storage.
Clara had never believed her.
That night, after the kitchen staff had gone home and the estate had become silent, Clara returned to the library.
She carried the key in her apron pocket.
Arthur’s former office was located in the oldest wing of the house.
The door had been painted twice since his death.
No name remained on it.
Clara inserted the brass key.
It did not fit.
She tried another unused door nearby.
Nothing.
Then she remembered something.
Arthur had loved puzzles.
As a child, according to the old staff, he had hidden candy inside hollow books and kept allowance money behind loose wall panels.
Clara went back inside his former office.
The door was unlocked now because the room had been converted into storage.
Dust sheets covered several pieces of furniture.
Boxes were stacked against the walls.
The original built-in bookcase remained.
Clara switched on a small lamp.
She began examining the shelves.
Nothing.
Then her fingers touched a tiny brass plate beneath the lowest shelf.
There was a keyhole.
Her pulse jumped.
She inserted the key.
It turned.
A narrow section of the bookcase clicked open.
Behind it was a shallow compartment.
Inside sat a black leather document case.
Clara stared at it.
Her name was written across the front.
CLARA HAYES.
She nearly dropped the key.
For several seconds, she could only listen to her own breathing.
Arthur had died six years earlier.
Yet he had hidden something specifically for her.
Clara opened the case.
Inside was a sealed envelope.
The handwriting belonged to Arthur.
She knew it immediately.
Clara,
If you are reading this, then one of two things has happened.
Either I finally became brave enough to tell you the truth myself.
Or something happened before I could.
Her hands began to shake.
She continued.
There are people in this house who believe Leo is standing between them and something they consider theirs.
If anything happens to me, do not assume my death was an accident.
And whatever you do, do not let Eleanor control my son.
Clara stopped breathing.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor.
She snapped the letter shut.
The steps came closer.
Slow.
Measured.
Then stopped directly outside Arthur’s former office.
May you like
The door handle began to turn.
And Clara realized someone else knew the hidden compartment had been opened.
