Chapter 3 - Shadows in the East Wing
Two days passed in agonizing tension. Maria kept her head down, serving meals with a polite smile, cleaning the vast marble floors, and checking on Arthur, whose condition seemed particularly fragile that afternoon. The old man sat in his favorite leather armchair by the window, staring blankly out at the manicured lawns.
"Arthur? Would you like some warm chamomile tea?" Maria asked softly, kneeling beside him.
Arthur blinked slowly, his cloudy eyes focusing on her face with a faint, heartbreaking glimmer of recognition. "You... you're a good girl, sweetheart. My boy Nathan... he works too hard. Make sure he eats, okay?"
"I will, Arthur. I always do," Maria whispered, fighting back tears as she gently squeezed his frail, cold hand.
She knew time was running out. Every day Victoria stayed in that house, another micro-dose of that poison slipped into Arthur's system, pulling him closer to the edge. Nathan was scheduled to fly to Chicago for a major corporate acquisition meeting in three days, a trip that would keep him away for forty-eight hours. Maria realized with sudden dread that Victoria was planning to use Nathan's absence to accelerate her plot. An elderly man passing away quietly in his sleep while his billionaire son was out of state would raise zero eyebrows—just a tragic, expected end to a long life.
That evening, fortune favored Maria in a risky way. Nathan announced at the dinner table that he had to fly down to New York unexpectedly early for a midnight board meeting, and Victoria decided to accompany him for a late-night shopping spree in Manhattan, planning to stay at their penthouse apartment in the city.
"We won't be back until late tomorrow afternoon, Maria," Nathan told her as he adjusted his tailored suit jacket in the foyer. "Take good care of my father."
"Yes, Mr. Cole. Have a safe trip," Maria replied smoothly, keeping her eyes respectfully lowered.
As the deep rumble of Nathan’s black Bentley faded down the long private driveway, silence descended over the sprawling estate like a heavy wool blanket. The clock on the grand hallway wall struck 11:00 PM.
Maria waited another full hour. At midnight, clad in soft-soled running shoes and dark clothing, she slipped out of her room above the garage and made her way through the moonlit gardens toward the main house. The service entrance was left unlatched for the night-shift security guard, who routinely slept through his final rounds in the basement lodge.
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With practiced stealth, Maria navigated the shadowy, cavernous hallways of the East Wing, her heart pounding against her ribs. She reached Victoria’s private suite, slipped a plastic card against the latch, and clicked the door open.
The room was bathed in pale moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains. Maria flicked on a tiny penlight, its narrow beam cutting through the darkness. She bypassed the writing desk, knowing it was now locked tighter than a bank vault, and marched straight toward the king-sized bed.
