His name was Edwin Pike.
He had been standing behind Dr. Reddick during the investigation. He was the employee who claimed Madison had been laughing minutes before she collapsed.
“Why would someone from Haven Crest target Ivy?” I asked.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“I haven’t spoken to anyone from the clinic in years.”
Adrian opened a folder.
“Haven Crest is being sold.”
“I didn’t know.”
“A private medical group planned to buy it. The transaction has stalled because an anonymous source submitted evidence of falsified medication records.”
“What does that have to do with you?”
“My investment company finances the buyer.”
I looked at him.
“You own a medical company?”
“I own pieces of many companies.”
“Does Dr. Mercer know?”
“He introduced the transaction.”
The answer settled heavily between us.
Adrian leaned back.
“Someone may believe exhausting me, creating a crisis around Ivy, and discrediting the estate’s security would force me to withdraw from the purchase.”
“Why would crying accomplish that?”
“Because after Ivy’s mother died, I avoided business whenever my daughter was ill. That information is not public.”
“But someone inside the house knew.”
“Yes.”
“Celeste?”
“She knew.”
“Mercer?”
“He knew more than anyone.”
A knock interrupted us.
Tomas entered with a small evidence bag.
“We found this in Miss Wynn’s office.”
Inside was a second acoustic transmitter.
Celeste was brought to the library.
She did not deny possessing the device.
She claimed Dr. Mercer had given it to her as part of a security demonstration. He had warned that modern surveillance tools could be hidden inside children’s equipment.
“Why didn’t you report it?” Adrian asked.
“I forgot it was there.”
“You forget very little.”
Her face remained composed.
“I did not place anything in Ivy’s room.”
“Did you hire the mobile technician?”
“No.”
“Did you give Mercer access to the nursery schedule?”
“He was Ivy’s physician.”
“That was not my question.”
Celeste hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said the crying might follow a behavioral pattern.”
“Did he ask what time I visited the nursery?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ask when the nurse took breaks?”
Her eyes moved toward me.
“Yes.”
Adrian’s voice lowered.
“And you found none of that unusual?”
“He was a respected physician.”
“So you gave him everything he needed.”
“I was trying to help.”
For the first time, her control cracked.
“You have no idea what this house was like after Eliana died. Ivy refused bottles. You disappeared into meetings. Your mother blamed the nurses. Staff resigned every week. Dr. Mercer was the only person who seemed capable of maintaining order.”
“Order,” Adrian repeated.
“He helped us.”
“He helped himself enter my daughter’s room without scrutiny.”
Celeste’s face went pale.
“I did not know.”
“Leave your keys and security badge.”
“Adrian—”
“Now.”
She placed them on the desk.
As she turned, her eyes met mine.
The hatred there was immediate.
Not because I had accused her.
Because my presence had made it possible for Adrian to question her.
Three days passed.
Ivy returned home with two bandaged toes and a new pediatrician.
Adrian ordered the nursery stripped of every electronic device. The antique mobile was placed in storage. The biometric restrictions remained, but the rule changed.
No employee was forbidden from responding to a child in distress.
The words appeared in the revised household policy.
Celeste had drafted the old policy.
I suspected the change was meant for her even though she was no longer there.
Adrian reassigned me from cleaning duties.
He did not make me a nurse or pretend my dispatch experience qualified me to provide medical treatment.
Instead, he created a position called family safety coordinator.
The title sounded invented because it was.
My duties were simple.
I observed Ivy’s routines, documented concerns, coordinated with the new pediatric team, and ensured that every staff member could report a problem without requesting permission from someone more powerful.
The salary was four times what I had earned as a housekeeper.
I declined it.
Adrian stared at me across the breakfast table.
“Why?”
“Because you are trying to buy relief from guilt.”
His expression hardened.
“You believe I feel guilty?”
“You built a fortress around Ivy and still taught everyone inside it to fear the rules more than they cared about her.”
The room became very quiet.
“Most people choose their words carefully around me,” he said.
“I spent three years choosing mine carefully. It didn’t improve my life.”
“What would make you accept?”
“A written contract. A clear job description. Independent access to Ivy’s pediatrician. The right to report concerns without going through you or your staff.”
“You work for me.”