Chapter 5 - THE GIRL AT THE EASTERN GATE
-5
Chadworth did not remember crossing the foyer.
He did not remember pushing open the side doors.
He remembered only rain.
A light autumn rain had begun falling over the estate, turning the stone pathways dark and shining beneath the security lights.
Somewhere beyond the hedges, a guard shouted.
Chadworth ran toward the eastern wall.
“Lorelai!”
No answer.
Marcus was behind him.
Edmund farther back.
Rosamund had gone upstairs to check on Gemma.
Chadworth reached the old stone shed near the perimeter just as one of the security guards emerged from behind it.
“Sir!”
“Where is she?”
The guard pointed.
“Inside.”
Chadworth entered.
The shed smelled of wet earth and old wood.
A trapdoor stood open in the floor.
Beside it lay one of Lorelai’s slippers.
Chadworth picked it up.
His hand shook.
“How did she get here?”
“We don’t know.”
“You said you found them.”
“We saw Ms. Laurent entering. There was a smaller figure with her.”
Marcus took a flashlight.
“Tunnel.”
Chadworth stepped onto the ladder.
“Sir, I should go first.”
“You can follow.”
He descended.
The tunnel was narrow and damp.
Old electrical bulbs cast weak circles of yellow light every fifteen feet.
Ahead, footsteps echoed.
“Lorelai!”
This time a voice answered.
“Daddy!”
Chadworth ran.
He rounded a corner.
Lorelai stood alone beneath one of the lights.
He reached her and dropped to his knees.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“What happened?”
“She told me Rosamund was in trouble.”
“Sabina?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Lorelai pointed farther down the tunnel.
“She ran.”
Chadworth pulled his daughter into his arms.
Marcus arrived.
“Take her back.”
Lorelai grabbed Chadworth’s jacket.
“No.”
“You’re going upstairs.”
“No, Daddy.”
“Lorelai.”
“She wanted me to open something.”
Chadworth stopped.
“What?”
Lorelai reached into her pocket.
She removed the silver locket Evelyn had left her.
Chadworth stared.
“The key.”
Edmund had said Sabina copied the key hidden inside it.
Lorelai opened the locket.
Inside, behind Evelyn’s photograph, was a tiny metal strip.
“She said Mommy left something down here that belonged to me.”
“Did she touch the locket?”
“No. I ran when I heard the guards.”
Marcus looked down the tunnel.
“She may still be inside.”
Chadworth stood.
“You’re taking Lorelai back.”
Marcus shook his head.
“I’m not leaving you unprotected.”
Edmund finally caught up.
“I’ll take her.”
Lorelai recoiled from him.
Chadworth noticed.
“Why are you afraid of Uncle Edmund?”
Edmund looked wounded.
“I don’t know.”
Lorelai whispered, “Sabina said he killed Mommy.”
Silence.
Edmund’s face changed.
“That’s a lie.”
“Why would she tell you that?” Chadworth asked.
“She said if I ever saw you talking to Uncle Edmund about Mommy, I should run away because he’d hurt me too.”
Edmund closed his eyes.
The manipulation was extraordinary.
Sabina had planted different fears in everyone.
Rosamund was dangerous.
Edmund was a murderer.
The girls were unstable.
Chadworth was paranoid.
Each person had been given a separate version of reality.
Enough contradictions to keep them from ever comparing stories.
“We go together,” Chadworth said.
Marcus frowned.
“With Lorelai?”
“I’m not handing her to anyone until I know exactly who I can trust.”
They moved deeper into the tunnel.
Lorelai held Chadworth’s hand.
After several minutes, the passage widened.
A steel door stood ahead.
Unlike the rest of the tunnel, it was modern.
Electronic keypad.
Biometric reader.
Chadworth stared.
“This was not built in the seventies.”
Edmund shook his head.
“No.”
Lorelai held up the locket.
“Sabina said Mommy’s key opens it.”
Marcus examined the lock.
“There’s a slot.”
Chadworth took the metal strip from the locket.
It fit perfectly.
The keypad illuminated.
A recorded voice spoke.
“Secondary verification required.”
Lorelai gasped.
Chadworth knew the voice.
Evelyn.
A small microphone activated.
Then another recording:
“Lorelai, if you’re old enough to understand this, tell me the name of the story I read you every night when Gemma was born.”
Lorelai began crying.
Chadworth knew the answer too.
But the system was clearly waiting for her.
She whispered, “The Moon Garden.”
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Inside was a room filled with filing cabinets.
Computer equipment.
Boxes.
A desk.
And a wall covered with photographs connected by lines.
Arthur Prescott.
Marianne Devereaux.
Sabrina.
Edmund.
Marcus.
Several board members.
Lawyers.
Doctors.
And Chadworth himself.
At the center was a photograph of Evelyn.
Lorelai stared.
“Mommy made this?”
Marcus walked toward the computers.
“Looks like it.”
Edmund stood frozen before one section of the wall.
“What?”
Chadworth asked.
Edmund pointed at a photograph.
A man in his late sixties.
Chadworth recognized him.
Dr. Theodore Voss.
A respected neurologist.
The same doctor who had treated Arthur Prescott during the final year of his life.
And the same doctor Sabina had recommended for Gemma’s anxiety.
Chadworth’s stomach turned.
“There’s a note.”
Edmund read aloud.
“Voss altered medical samples.”
Marcus opened a folder beneath the photograph.
Inside were lab reports.
DNA records.
Payment receipts.
Arthur Prescott’s preserved samples.
Chadworth read the dates.
Several had been created after Arthur was already dead.
“Fabricated.”
“Yes,” Marcus said.
Lorelai walked toward Evelyn’s desk.
“Daddy.”
A red envelope rested beside an old computer.
Written across the front:
FOR CHADWORTH ONLY.
He opened it.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
Chad,
If you are reading this, then I did not get the chance to explain everything myself.
The most important thing I discovered is that Sabrina Devereaux is not your enemy in the way you think.
She is dangerous.
She has lied.
She has stolen.
And I believe she has done terrible things.
But someone spent years turning her hatred toward you.
Someone taught her that your family stole her life before she was even born.
Someone funded her.
Someone gave her access.
And that person is inside Prescott Holdings.
Do not follow the money.
Follow the medical records.
Chadworth looked at Dr. Voss’s photograph.
Edmund opened another drawer.
“Chad.”
Inside were medical charts belonging to Gemma and Lorelai.
Dozens.
Most Chadworth had never seen.
Some were stamped with Voss’s private clinic.
Gemma: anxiety.
Lorelai: oppositional behavior.
Gemma: hallucinations.
Lorelai: violent ideation.
None of it was true.
His daughters were being given fake medical histories.
Exactly what Rosamund had warned.
Then Marcus found another folder.
This one bore Chadworth’s name.
Inside were blood tests.
Brain scans.
Psychiatric assessments.
His face hardened.
“I’ve never had these tests.”
Edmund took one.
The conclusion at the bottom read:
Early-onset frontotemporal degeneration.
Impaired executive judgment.
Progressive loss of capacity expected.
Chadworth read it twice.
Someone was building a medical case to declare him mentally incompetent.
Not dead.
Incompetent.
That meant they did not need to murder him.
They only needed to convince a court he could no longer control his company or his daughters.
“Sabina wanted guardianship,” Rosamund had said.
Now Chadworth understood.
Not merely of the children.
Of everything.
Lorelai opened a small box on Evelyn’s desk.
Inside were prescription bottles.
Chadworth recognized one.
It was the vitamin supplement Sabina gave him every morning.
He picked it up.
Marcus stared.
“You take that?”
“Yes.”
Edmund turned pale.
“Stop.”
Chadworth looked at him.
“What?”
“Don’t touch your face.”
Marcus took the bottle using a handkerchief.
The label claimed magnesium and vitamin D.
But Evelyn had written beneath it in black marker:
NOT VITAMINS.
Chadworth felt suddenly dizzy.
For six months he had experienced headaches.
Forgetfulness.
Short moments when words vanished.
He had blamed exhaustion.
Sabina had been the one reminding him to take the supplements.
Every morning.
She would kiss his cheek.
Hand him water.
And watch him swallow.
Lorelai whispered, “Daddy?”
He forced himself to smile.
“I’m okay.”
But he was no longer certain.
Marcus examined Evelyn’s notes.
“There’s a chemical name.”
Edmund read it.
His face changed.
“What?”
Chadworth demanded.
“It’s a sedative derivative.”
“What does it do?”
“In controlled doses? Anxiety reduction.”
“And uncontrolled?”
Edmund looked at him.
“Confusion. Memory problems. Emotional instability.”
Exactly the symptoms required to support a false dementia diagnosis.
Chadworth looked again at his fake medical file.
The horror was no longer hidden.
It had been happening every morning at his own breakfast table.
Then a computer in the room suddenly activated.
Everyone turned.
The screen flickered.
A live camera feed appeared.
The girls’ bedroom.
Gemma was sitting on the bed beside Rosamund.
Then the image changed.
Another camera.
Chadworth’s bedroom.
Then his office.
Then the dining room.
The hidden network.
A message appeared across the screen:
REMOTE ACCESS ACTIVE.
Marcus reached for the keyboard.
“Someone’s controlling it.”
“From where?”
“I’m tracing.”
A second message appeared.
YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE TO CANADA.
Chadworth stared.
May you like
Then a third.
YOUR WIFE MADE THE SAME MISTAKE.
