Chapter 3: A Hiss Behind the Door
I told myself I wasn't going to snoop.
I repeated it on the drive home from work.
I repeated it while I parked outside the estate.
And I repeated it when I slipped through the side entrance two nights before the wedding, carrying a small velvet box that contained my mother's sapphire hair comb.
I had promised my father I would wear it at the ceremony.
The house was unusually quiet. The staff had left early, and my father was attending the rehearsal dinner with Daniel Price and several business associates.
Vanessa had said she was feeling tired.
She was supposedly seven months pregnant.
I climbed the stairs toward the guest room where the comb had been stored.
Halfway down the corridor, I heard a sound.
A long, soft hiss.
I stopped.
It came from behind Vanessa's dressing-room door.
I moved closer.
Another hiss.
Then a woman's voice.
“Come on. Come on.””
It was Vanessa.
I should have walked away.
Instead, I reached for my phone.
The door wasn't fully closed. A narrow strip of light fell across the carpet, and the mirror opposite the entrance reflected part of the room.
I pressed the camera icon.
Then I started recording.
At first, the phone captured only the edge of a white dressing table and the lower half of a floor-length mirror.
Then Vanessa stepped into view.
She was wearing a pale silk robe.
Her hands were pressed against the large curve of her abdomen.
She pulled at something beneath the robe, grimaced, and loosened an elastic strap.
A soft hiss escaped.
The curve beneath her stomach began to shrink.
I stopped breathing.
Vanessa pulled the robe open.
There it was.
The pregnancy belly from the website.
A flesh-colored inflatable prosthetic, secured around her waist with wide elastic straps.
She peeled it away from her body and placed it on the bed.
Without it, she looked completely different.
Her stomach was flat.
There was no baby.
No miracle.
No child growing beneath the hand she had placed over it at every family dinner.
Vanessa rubbed the red marks around her waist.
“God, I hate this thing,” she muttered.
“It digs into my ribs.””
Then she laughed at herself in the mirror.
“Just two more days.””
I wanted to burst through the door.
I wanted to drag my father home and put the video in his hands.
But I kept recording.
Vanessa picked up her phone.
The call connected after two rings.
“You're late,” she said.
A man's voice answered, too faint for me to identify.
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
“No, the wedding is still happening. Graham is completely committed. He actually cried when we discussed the baby yesterday.””
She walked toward the dressing table, where several folders were stacked beside a jewelry box.
I shifted my position slightly so my camera could catch her reflection.
“What about the amendment?”” the man asked.
Vanessa opened a drawer.
“I found it. It's ready for him to sign after the honeymoon.””
“That's not what we agreed.””
“Don't start with me, Daniel.””
My fingers tightened around my phone.
Daniel.
She had said his name.
Daniel Price.
The same Daniel who had worked beside my father for eighteen years.
The same Daniel my father trusted with payroll, acquisitions, construction loans, and every major financial decision the company made.
On the screen, Vanessa picked up a blue folder.
“You told me the first transfer went through,” she continued.
“So why are you panicking?””
“The auditor is asking questions.””
“Then give him something else to look at. That's your job.””
A silence followed.
Then Daniel said, “You promised me this would be over before Monday.””
“It will be.””
“You've already taken one hundred and eighty thousand dollars from the company account. I need the rest moved before Graham discovers the discrepancy.””
Vanessa's smile vanished.
“Lower your voice.””
“I'm on the phone.””
“And I'm in the house.””
She glanced toward the door.
I pressed myself against the wall.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Vanessa walked toward the mirror again.
“Graham thinks the trust is for his child,” she said.
“Once he signs it, the money becomes much easier to access. The baby doesn't have to exist. The paperwork only has to exist.””
My stomach turned.
Daniel exhaled sharply.
“And what happens when he asks about the pregnancy?””
Vanessa lifted the artificial belly and examined its straps.
“Women lose babies every day, Daniel. Especially when doctors say a pregnancy is complicated. People will feel sorry for him. They'll tell him not to blame himself.””
“That's sick.””
“You're the one who wanted the money.””
“You said he was easy to manipulate.””
“He is. He trusts people.””
For a moment, her reflection looked unfamiliar.
The warm, patient woman who had brought soup to my father when he had a cold was gone.
In her place stood someone who spoke about his grief like a weakness she could exploit.
Daniel's voice lowered.
“What about Nora?””
Vanessa's expression turned cold.
“What about her?””
“She'll be living in the estate after the wedding. She might find the records.””
“She already suspects me. That's why I've been working on Graham.””
“Working on him how?””
Vanessa picked up a photograph from the dressing table.
It was a picture of my father and me at my mother's memorial service.
She studied it for a moment before placing it face down.
“I've told him Nora is struggling,” she said.
“That she's possessive of him. That she resents the baby. By the time this is over, he'll believe she's the one trying to destroy his family.””
I could barely feel my hands.
“She'll never get away with that,” Daniel said.
Vanessa laughed.
“People believe what protects their hearts. Graham wants to believe he's finally getting a second chance. He won't let his daughter take that away from him.””
Then she said something that made my blood turn to ice.
“Besides, by Monday, Nora won't have any say in what happens to this family.””
Daniel went quiet.
“What have you done?””
Vanessa opened the blue folder.
“Nothing she can prove.””
She pulled out a document.
I couldn't read the heading, but I could see my father's name typed near the bottom.
Beside it was a signature.
Graham Hart.
Vanessa ran her thumb over the page.
“He'll sign the final documents at breakfast. After that, everything is legally protected.””
“Is it already signed?””
“Not the final version.””
“But the other one?””
Vanessa smiled.
“The one that authorizes the transfer? That's taken care of.””
Daniel muttered something I couldn't hear.
Then Vanessa leaned toward the phone.
“Listen carefully. The wedding is Saturday. The honeymoon is Sunday.
The money moves Monday morning. By Tuesday, we won't be answering anyone's calls.””
She ended the conversation.
For a few seconds, she stood motionless.
Then she folded the artificial belly, put it inside a black garment bag, and walked toward the wardrobe.
I stopped recording.
My heart was pounding so hard that I thought she might hear it through the door.
I backed away from the dressing room.
One step.
Then another.
I had proof.
Not suspicion.
Not a shipping label.
Not a strange crease under a dress.
Video.
Audio.
A confession.
But as I turned toward the staircase, the floorboard beneath my heel gave a sharp, dry creak.
Inside the dressing room, everything went silent.
Then Vanessa's voice came through the open doorway.
“Who's out there?””
I froze.
The door began to move.
“Nora?””
The handle turned.
I shoved my phone into my pocket and reached for the velvet box in my other hand.
The door opened three inches.
Vanessa stared through the gap.
Her gaze dropped to the box.
Then it lifted slowly to my face.
“What are you doing up here?””
I forced myself to smile.
“I came for my mother's comb.””
She looked over my shoulder toward the stairs.
Then she looked back at me.
For one terrible moment, I thought she knew.
Finally, she smiled.
“Of course you did, sweetheart.””
She stepped into the corridor.
Behind her, I could see the dressing table.
The open drawer.
The empty space where the blue folder had been.
And on the bed, beside the abandoned silk robe, the elastic straps of the fake pregnancy belly.
Vanessa closed the door with her foot.
“Your father has been under so much stress,” she said softly.
“I hope you won't give him any more reasons to worry.””
She took my hand.
Her fingers were cold.
“Because when people start making accusations they can't support, Nora, things can get very unpleasant.””
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Then she squeezed my hand hard enough to hurt.
And smiled.