CHAPTER 3 — THE FIRST NAME ON THE DEATH LIST
CHAPTER 3 — THE FIRST NAME ON THE DEATH LIST
The message was gone before Victor Graves slipped the phone back into his pocket.
His polished smile returned as he walked away from the kitchen, every measured step hiding the urgency beneath it.
Behind him, Adrian Cain was still staring at the initials carved into the old radio.
R.A.
Rose Alvarez.
He traced the letters with his thumb.
The scratches were old. Deep. Deliberate.
Someone had wanted those initials to survive.
Someone had believed they would matter one day.
Emma swallowed.
"My grandmother never told me she'd been here."
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he turned the radio over again, searching every inch of its wooden frame.
Then he found something.
A tiny brass screw had been replaced decades ago.
Different metal.
Different age.
Someone had opened the radio before.
His expression hardened.
"This wasn't just a radio."
Emma frowned.
"What do you mean?"
He carried it to the kitchen island and carefully removed the back panel with a butter knife.
Dust floated into the air.
Old wires.
Vacuum tubes.
Nothing unusual.
Until Adrian reached deeper.
His fingers stopped.
There, hidden beneath faded insulation, lay a tiny folded square of wax paper.
Emma stared.
"Was that always inside?"
"No."
He unfolded it carefully.
Inside was only one sentence.
When the song returns, trust the girl—not the house.
Neither of them spoke.
Emma's pulse thundered.
"The girl..."
Adrian looked at her.
"It was written decades ago."
"You think it's about me?"
"I don't believe in coincidence."
Before either could say another word—
A scream echoed from upstairs.
High.
Terrified.
"Miss Emma!"
Luca.
The six-year-old boy she had been hired to protect.
Emma ran before thinking.
Adrian was already beside her.
They reached the second floor together.
Luca stood outside his bedroom, shaking violently.
"The closet..."
His tiny finger pointed.
"Someone was inside."
Adrian pushed Emma behind him.
He opened the closet door.
Empty.
Nothing but children's clothes.
Then he noticed it.
The window.
Unlocked.
Rain drifted through the opening.
Someone had entered.
Someone had left.
On the floor beneath the window rested a single black chess piece.
A knight.
Adrian picked it up.
His face became stone.
Emma whispered,
"What is it?"
"The signature."
"Whose?"
He closed his fist around the piece.
"The man who tried to kill me tonight."
Two hours later, every member of Cain House security stood in the library.
No one spoke.
Adrian walked slowly before them.
"Someone entered my nephew's room."
Silence.
"They knew exactly where the cameras couldn't see."
Still silence.
"They also knew I was wounded."
Several guards exchanged nervous glances.
Adrian noticed.
"So."
His voice remained calm.
"We have a leak."
Victor Graves stepped forward.
"We'll investigate everyone."
Adrian looked directly at him.
"Everyone?"
"Without exception."
"Good."
Victor smiled.
"I'll start immediately."
As he turned away, Adrian said quietly,
"You'll start with yourself."
The room froze.
Victor looked back slowly.
"I'm sorry?"
"You heard me."
Victor laughed politely.
"Surely you aren't suggesting—"
"I'm suggesting nothing."
Adrian's eyes never blinked.
"I'm observing."
The older man inclined his head.
"As you wish."
Yet Emma noticed something no one else did.
Victor's left hand.
It trembled.
Only once.
Only for a second.
Then it stopped.
Later that night, Emma tucked Luca into bed.
He refused to let go of her hand.
"Is Uncle Adrian angry?"
"No."
"He looks angry."
"He always looks angry."
Luca giggled.
"A little."
Then his smile disappeared.
"The man in the closet..."
Emma's heart tightened.
"What did he look like?"
"I couldn't see him."
"What did you hear?"
The boy thought carefully.
"He was humming."
Emma frowned.
"What song?"
Luca hummed four quiet notes.
Emma froze.
It was the same Motown melody she'd been dancing to downstairs.
Her blood turned cold.
"Are you sure?"
The boy nodded.
"He stopped humming when you came upstairs."
Someone inside the mansion knew the song.
Someone had been listening.
Midnight became three in the morning.
Emma couldn't sleep.
She walked quietly downstairs for water.
Halfway through the hall—
She heard voices.
Low.
Urgent.
Coming from Adrian's office.
The door was slightly open.
She shouldn't look.
She knew that.
But curiosity won.
Inside, Adrian stood before an enormous wall map covered with photographs.
Most were faces.
Some had red X's through them.
Others had dates.
One photograph had just been added.
Emma stepped closer.
It was her grandmother.
Rose Alvarez.
A younger version she'd never seen.
Standing beside a smiling woman.
Adrian's mother.
Emma gasped.
The floor creaked.
Instantly—
Adrian drew a pistol.
"Who's there?"
Emma stepped into the doorway with both hands raised.
"I'm sorry."
The gun lowered.
Barely.
"You were spying."
"I heard voices."
"There weren't any."
She blinked.
"You were talking."
"No."
He looked toward the map.
"I was remembering."
Emma's eyes drifted again to the old photograph.
"My grandmother knew your mother."
"They were best friends."
Emma stared at him.
"My grandmother said she grew up alone."
"She lied."
"Why?"
Adrian looked at the faded picture for a long moment.
"Because everyone who knew the truth..."
His voice became almost emotionless.
"...ended up dead."
At sunrise, Chicago police discovered a body floating beneath the Wells Street Bridge.
Male.
Forty-eight.
Former Cain accountant.
Execution style.
In his pocket was a folded photograph.
Not of Adrian.
Not of Victor.
Not of Luca.
Of Emma.
May you like
Across the picture, written in fresh black ink, were five chilling words.
The nanny remembers too much.
