Chapter 2 - The Door Beneath the Mansion
# Chapter 2 - The Door Beneath the Mansion
The moment Noah mentioned the children in the basement, Victoria Vance understood why her husband had sent armed security men to the restaurant.
It wasn't to protect Thomas.
It was to silence the boy sitting beside him.
"Mrs. Vance?"
Richard Hale's voice cut through the stunned silence of Le Miroir d'Or.
Victoria turned slowly.
Charles's head of security stood several feet away, his broad shoulders blocking the narrow passage between the dining tables. Behind him, a younger man positioned himself near the restaurant's main entrance.
Neither looked particularly concerned about the injured child.
Their attention remained fixed on Noah.
"Mr. Vance asked us to escort you and Thomas home," Richard said pleasantly.
Victoria had known Richard for almost twelve years. He had served in military intelligence before Charles hired him to oversee security for the Vance family's properties.
He was efficient, discreet, and absolutely loyal.
Until tonight, Victoria had considered those qualities reassuring.
Now they terrified her.
"My husband is in London," she replied.
Richard's expression did not change.
"Mr. Vance contacted us directly, ma'am."
"From London?"
A brief silence followed.
"His location isn't something I'm authorized to discuss."
Victoria almost laughed.
She was Charles Vance's wife.
She had given birth to his son, hosted his business partners, defended his reputation, and stood beside him through every public scandal.
Yet apparently, she was not authorized to know where he was.
"How interesting," she murmured.
Richard glanced toward Noah.
"The other child will come with us."
Thomas immediately grabbed Noah's hand.
"No!"
Several diners turned.
Richard's polite smile tightened.
"Young Master Thomas, your father simply wants to make sure everyone is safe."
"You're lying!"
Victoria looked down sharply.
Thomas's face had gone white.
He was staring at Richard with unmistakable terror.
"Thomas," she whispered, "do you know Mr. Hale?"
Her son nodded.
"Was he at the house last night?"
Another nod.
Richard moved forward.
"Mrs. Vance, I strongly suggest we discuss this somewhere private."
Victoria raised one hand.
"Stay where you are."
He stopped.
It was the first time in twelve years she had given him a direct order that he had not immediately acknowledged.
Instead, he studied her.
Something cold passed between them.
"Victoria," he said quietly, abandoning the formal address, "you don't understand the situation."
"Then explain it."
"I can't."
"Or you won't?"
His jaw tightened.
Noah suddenly made a small choking sound.
Victoria turned.
The boy was struggling to remain upright. His breathing had become increasingly shallow, and sweat glistened along his forehead.
He pressed one hand against his ribs.
Thomas looked at his mother desperately.
"Please help him."
Victoria stared at Noah's battered face.
A few minutes earlier, she had wanted him removed from the restaurant because he threatened her social standing.
Now she realized that the child might be the only reason her son was alive and unharmed enough to speak.
The shame struck her with almost physical force.
She pulled out her phone.
"What are you doing?" Richard asked.
"Calling an ambulance."
"That won't be necessary."
Victoria looked directly at him.
"An injured child is having difficulty breathing. It is necessary."
"Mr. Vance has a private physician."
"Then Mr. Vance can make an appointment for himself."
Richard's expression darkened.
Victoria dialed emergency services.
She gave the restaurant's address, described Noah's injuries, and requested police assistance as well.
Richard took another step forward.
"Victoria, think carefully."
She covered the phone's microphone.
"I am."
For the first time that evening, she truly was.
Ten minutes later, the restaurant no longer resembled an exclusive dining establishment.
Two paramedics knelt beside Noah while a uniformed police officer questioned the manager.
The other diners had retreated into uneasy silence.
Some pretended to continue eating.
Others discreetly recorded the scene on their phones.
Victoria would normally have been horrified.
Tonight, she was grateful for the witnesses.
Richard stood near the entrance, speaking quietly into his phone.
His companion had disappeared.
That concerned Victoria more than she wanted to admit.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" one paramedic asked Noah.
"Noah."
"Last name?"
The boy hesitated.
"Reed."
"How old are you?"
"Ten."
The paramedic gently examined his injured cheek.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
Noah looked toward Richard.
Victoria noticed.
She stepped between them, blocking his view.
"You're safe," she said.
The words sounded strange coming from her.
Only minutes earlier, she had threatened to have him thrown outside.
Noah seemed to remember.
His expression remained guarded.
"Someone hit me," he whispered.
"Who?" the paramedic asked.
Noah shook his head.
Victoria wanted to say Charles's name.
But she stopped herself.
Thomas had accused his father. Noah's injuries supported the possibility of serious violence. Yet she had not witnessed what happened, and she was beginning to understand how dangerous an incorrect assumption might be.
"He's frightened," she told the paramedic. "Please examine him first."
The paramedic nodded.
As the team prepared to move Noah onto a stretcher, Thomas refused to release his hand.
"I'm coming with him."
Victoria crouched beside her son.
"Thomas, you can ride with me."
"No."
"Sweetheart—"
"If I leave him alone, they'll take him."
His voice broke on the final word.
Victoria glanced toward Richard.
He was watching them.
She made her decision.
"Then we're both going to the hospital."
Thomas searched her face.
"Promise?"
Victoria felt tears sting her eyes.
"Promise."
For the first time that night, her son leaned toward her.
She wrapped her arms around him.
He stiffened initially, then slowly relaxed.
And when she held him, she felt something beneath the back of his shirt.
A raised bruise.
Long and narrow.
Her heart sank.
She did not ask him about it in front of the crowd.
Instead, she held him a little more gently.
At St. Catherine's Medical Center, the emergency department smelled of disinfectant and stale coffee.
Noah was taken for imaging after the examining physician expressed concern about possible rib injuries.
Thomas sat beside Victoria in a private consultation room, clutching a paper cup of hot chocolate.
He had barely touched it.
Outside, rain began tapping against the windows.
Victoria studied her son.
"Thomas, I need you to tell me something."
He stared into his cup.
"Are you going to tell Dad?"
"No."
He looked up.
"Really?"
"I won't tell him what you say without discussing it with you first, unless someone needs the information to keep you safe."
Thomas considered that.
Then he nodded.
"Last night," Victoria continued, "you said your father thought you saw something in his office."
Thomas's fingers tightened around the cup.
"I was looking for my tablet."
"I know."
"His computer was on."
Victoria waited.
"There was a picture."
"What kind of picture?"
"A house."
"Which house?"
"Ours."
Victoria frowned.
"Why would that upset him?"
Thomas shook his head.
"It wasn't the normal house."
"What do you mean?"
"It was like a drawing. With all the rooms."
"A floor plan?"
"Maybe."
Victoria leaned forward.
"Was there something unusual about it?"
Thomas nodded.
"There was a staircase behind the wine cellar."
Victoria's pulse quickened.
The Vance estate occupied nearly twenty acres outside the city. The mansion had been renovated extensively after Charles purchased it eleven years earlier.
Victoria knew its main rooms intimately.
The east wing contained guest suites.
The west wing housed Charles's private offices.
The lower level included a gym, theater, wine cellar, and storage rooms.
But she had never seen a staircase behind the wine cellar.
"Are you sure?"
Thomas nodded.
"I thought it was a secret game room."
Victoria swallowed.
"What did you do?"
"I clicked on the picture."
"And?"
"There were names."
"Whose names?"
Thomas looked confused.
"I don't remember all of them."
"Try."
He closed his eyes.
"There was Noah."
Victoria went cold.
"Noah Reed?"
"I don't know his last name. It just said Noah."
"What else?"
Thomas hesitated.
"There were numbers beside the names."
"What numbers?"
"Dates, I think."
Victoria tried to keep her voice calm.
"Do you remember any other names?"
Thomas stared at the wall.
"Emily."
The name meant nothing to Victoria.
"And one more."
"Who?"
He opened his eyes.
"Daniel."
A sudden knock interrupted them.
Victoria turned sharply.
A woman in a charcoal-gray coat stood in the doorway.
She appeared to be in her early forties, with tired eyes and dark hair pulled into a practical bun.
"Mrs. Vance?"
"Yes?"
"I'm Detective Elena Brooks."
Victoria stood.
The detective entered and closed the door.
"I understand your son may have witnessed an assault."
Victoria glanced at Thomas.
"Yes."
"I'd like to speak with him, but first I need to ask you a few questions."
"Of course."
Elena took out a notebook.
"Do you know Noah Reed?"
"I met him tonight."
"Have you ever seen him before?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"
Victoria frowned.
"Why?"
The detective studied her.
"Because Noah recognized your family name."
"Thomas told him."
"According to Noah, he knew it long before meeting your son."
Victoria felt a flicker of unease.
"How?"
"That's what we're trying to establish."
Elena paused.
"Mrs. Vance, has your husband ever mentioned a woman named Rebecca Reed?"
Victoria's stomach tightened.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
The detective watched her for a moment.
Then she opened her notebook to a photograph.
It showed a young woman with dark hair standing beside a red brick building.
She was smiling at the camera.
Something about her face was strangely familiar.
Victoria leaned closer.
"Who is she?"
"Rebecca Reed. Noah's mother."
"Where is she?"
Elena's expression grew serious.
"She's been missing for fourteen months."
Victoria looked at the photograph again.
Then she noticed the building behind Rebecca.
It was a medical research facility.
And above the entrance was a familiar silver emblem.
The Vance Foundation.
Victoria slowly sat down.
Across the city, Charles Vance stood in his private office overlooking the illuminated skyline.
He was not in London.
He had never left the country.
A glass of untouched whiskey rested beside his computer.
On the screen, a security feed displayed the interior of Le Miroir d'Or.
The restaurant was now nearly empty.
Charles watched the recording again.
Thomas placing the spaghetti before Noah.
Victoria approaching.
The argument.
The moment Noah revealed the cufflink.
Charles paused the video.
He enlarged the image.
The platinum cufflink gleamed against the boy's dirty sleeve.
"Idiot," he whispered.
His phone rang.
Richard Hale.
Charles answered immediately.
"Where is he?"
"St. Catherine's."
"And Victoria?"
"With both boys."
Charles closed his eyes.
"Did she call the police?"
"Yes."
"Which detective?"
"Elena Brooks."
Charles's hand tightened around the phone.
For the first time that evening, genuine fear crossed his face.
"Brooks?"
"Yes, sir."
Charles turned away from the window.
"That's a problem."
Richard hesitated.
"Sir, there's something else."
"What?"
"The boy spoke to Victoria before we reached the table."
Charles stared at the darkened glass.
"What did he tell her?"
"We couldn't hear everything."
"Richard."
A long silence followed.
"She asked him about the basement."
Charles went completely still.
For several seconds, the only sound in the office was the faint hum of the air-conditioning.
Then he spoke.
"Seal the lower level."
"Already done."
"Move the records."
"Where?"
"Facility Seven."
Richard hesitated again.
"Sir, we have a complication."
Charles's eyes narrowed.
"What complication?"
"The girl is refusing to cooperate."
Charles slowly lowered his glass.
"Which girl?"
"Emily."
Charles closed his eyes.
"Then remind her what happened to Rebecca."
He ended the call.
For a long moment, he stood motionless.
Then he opened a locked drawer and removed a photograph.
It showed Victoria holding newborn Thomas in a hospital bed.
Charles stood beside her, smiling proudly.
But there was another person in the picture.
A young nurse.
Dark-haired.
Smiling.
Rebecca Reed.
Charles studied her face.
Then he turned the photograph over.
On the back, written in Rebecca's handwriting, were six words:
One day, she will know everything.
Charles stared at the message.
"Not if I can help it," he whispered.
Back at the hospital, Victoria had just finished answering Detective Brooks's questions when her phone rang.
An unfamiliar number.
She almost ignored it.
Then a message appeared.
If you want to know what happened to Rebecca Reed, answer.
Victoria's hands went cold.
She stepped into the hallway.
The phone rang again.
She answered.
"Hello?"
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then a woman's voice whispered:
"Victoria?"
"Who is this?"
"Don't say my name."
Victoria looked toward the consultation room.
"How do you know me?"
"I used to work for your husband."
Victoria pressed the phone tightly against her ear.
"Where are you?"
"That doesn't matter. Listen carefully."
A door slammed somewhere in the background.
The woman gasped.
"Your son wasn't supposed to find that staircase."
Victoria felt her pulse pounding.
"What is beneath my house?"
The woman began crying.
"Something Charles has spent eleven years hiding."
"Tell me."
"I can't explain over the phone."
"Then meet me."
"No. You need to go to the mansion."
Victoria almost laughed in disbelief.
"Absolutely not."
"There's a hidden entrance behind the third wine rack. The lock opens with a six-digit code."
"What code?"
The woman hesitated.
"Thomas's birthday."
Victoria stared at the hospital wall.
"Why would Charles use that?"
"Because he wanted you to think the room belonged to your son."
Victoria's mouth went dry.
"What does that mean?"
The woman whispered:
"Victoria, before you open that door, you need to understand something."
"What?"
"The children downstairs aren't strangers."
A sharp noise interrupted the call.
The woman cried out.
Victoria heard footsteps.
Then a man's voice.
"Give me the phone."
The woman spoke quickly.
"Look for the blue folder. It has the birth certificates."
Victoria gripped the phone.
"Whose birth certificates?"
A struggle erupted on the other end.
Then the woman screamed:
"THOMAS ISN'T THE ONLY CHILD CHARLES—"
The call disconnected.
Victoria stood frozen.
Her reflection stared back at her from the dark hospital window.
For nine years, she had believed Thomas was Charles Vance's only child.
Now she wasn't sure of anything.
Behind her, the consultation room door opened.
Detective Brooks stepped into the hallway.
"Mrs. Vance?"
Victoria turned.
The detective held a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was the platinum cufflink taken from Noah's sleeve.
"We found something on the reverse side," Elena said.
Victoria frowned.
"The sapphire?"
"No."
The detective held the bag closer.
Beneath the sapphire, barely visible without magnification, was a tiny engraved number.
0417\.
Victoria stared at it.
Her knees nearly gave way.
Because April seventeenth was not Thomas's birthday.
It was the date she had lost her first baby.
A pregnancy Charles had insisted ended in miscarriage.
And according to the doctors, the child had never survived long enough to receive a name.
Detective Brooks studied Victoria's expression.
"Mrs. Vance, does that number mean something to you?"
Victoria opened her mouth.
Before she could answer, Thomas appeared in the doorway behind the detective.
He looked at the cufflink.
Then at his mother.
And in a small, frightened voice, he said:
"Mom... that's the number on the door where Dad keeps my brother."