Chapter 4 - The Traitor's Footprint
My blood turned to ice, but before Ronan could pull back my sleeve, Evelyn suddenly let out a loud, raspy cough, her wheelchair-bound body lurching forward on the bed. She began gasping for air, her hands flailing wildly toward the bedside table, intentionally knocking a heavy silver water pitcher onto the hardwood floor.
CLANG!
Water splashed across Ronan’s leather shoes and the Persian rug.
The distraction was instantaneous. Ronan snapped his attention back to his mother, catching her shoulders to support her. "Mother!"
"She needs her oxygen line!" I shouted, using the chaos to step back, pulling my sleeve firmly down to my palm. I grabbed the clear plastic tube from the wall unit and gently fitted it over Evelyn's nose and mouth. "Keep her elevated, Mr. Cain! Don't let her lay flat!"
Ronan held his mother securely while I adjusted the pressure regulator. Within two minutes, Evelyn's breathing slowed, her eyes fluttering shut as if exhausted by the physical ordeal.
Ronan stood up, wiping water off his trousers with a handkerchief, his dark brows furrowed. He looked at me, the sharp suspicion in his eyes momentarily replaced by the raw stress of a son dealing with a dying parent.
"You handled that well," he admitted reluctantly.
"I spent two years working in home health care before joining the staffing agency," I lied smoothly, anchoring my story in plausible reality. "I know how to manage respiratory distress."
Ronan stared at his mother for another long moment, then turned toward the door. "Follow me, Maya. We need to discuss her schedule for tomorrow."
I followed him out into the quiet corridor. Instead of heading toward his study, Ronan walked down the East Wing hallway toward a reinforced steel door guarded by two muscular men in dark suits. As Ronan approached, the guards bowed their heads respectfully and keycarded the lock, swinging the heavy door open.
Inside was a high-tech surveillance command center. Dozens of monitors lined the walls, displaying live feeds of every square inch of Raven Hill—the iron gates, the kitchens, the perimeter fence, the basement vaults, and the long hallways.
"Raven Hill has thirty-two guards, sixty cameras, and a state-of-the-art thermal perimeter," Ronan said, standing in the middle of the room, looking at the screens. "Yet four years ago, someone managed to cut the brake lines on my brother's car while it was parked inside our private garage downstairs."
I kept my face perfectly still, though my heart was hammering against my ribs.
"Whoever did it had a master security clearance," Ronan continued, his voice dropping into a register of deadly calm. "Which means the person who killed Julian wasn't an outside enemy. It was someone sitting at my dinner table. Someone who works in this house."
He turned to face me, his blue eyes gleaming in the dark monitor light.
"I brought you into this house because my mother reacted to you," Ronan said flatly. "In four years, she has rejected every nurse, every doctor, every relative. But she let you touch her. She trusted you instantly. Why?"
"Sometimes sick people sense when someone isn't afraid of them, Mr. Cain," I replied, staring directly into his eyes without flinching. "I don't see the Cain family empire. I just see an old woman in pain."
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Ronan searched my face for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he gave a single, curt nod. "Tomorrow, the executive board of Cain Global Logistics is holding a private memorial dinner here for Julian's four-year anniversary. Every senior family member and lieutenant will be in this house."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Watch my mother carefully tomorrow, Maya. Because the man who killed my brother will be sitting in that dining room, and I intend to find out who he is before the night ends."
