What I had seen in Garrett’s room wasn’t imagination. He had deliberately moved his foot. And somebody in that house didn’t know. I decided I would say nothing.

Not to Evelyn. Not to Douglas. Not to Gertrude. Not to anyone. When I entered Garrett’s room at seven that morning, he was already awake. His face was expressionless.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning, Rebecca.”

I closed the door behind me.

Neither of us spoke for several seconds.

Finally, Garrett said, “Did you sleep?”

“Not much.”

“Neither did I.”

He looked toward the hallway.

Then he lowered his voice.

“Last night, did anyone come near my room?”

I thought carefully.

“No.”

He nodded.

“That’s good.”

I helped him with his morning routine. While I worked, I noticed that his eyes kept moving toward the door.

He wasn’t afraid of me.

He was afraid someone was listening.

When I finished helping him dress, I whispered, “You need to tell me what’s happening.”

Garrett looked at me.

“I will.”

“Today?”

“No.”

His answer was so immediate that I stopped.

“Why not?”

“Because if I tell you everything now, you become part of the secret.”

“I already am.”

“No, Rebecca.”

He shook his head.

“You’ve only seen the beginning.”

Before I could ask another question, someone knocked.

Garrett immediately changed his expression.

“Come in.”

Douglas opened the door.

He was tall, confident, and perfectly dressed even though it was barely eight in the morning.

His eyes moved from Garrett to me.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Garrett said.

Douglas smiled.

“Mother wants to see you downstairs.”

Garrett nodded.

Then Douglas looked at me.

“You can take the morning off.”

I didn’t like the way he said it.

“Garrett has physical therapy exercises scheduled.”

“I know.”

“I’ll stay.”

Douglas’s smile disappeared for half a second.

Then it returned.

“Of course.”

He closed the door.

I waited until his footsteps disappeared.

Garrett looked at me.

“That’s exactly why I hired you.”

I frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t hire you.”

My stomach tightened.

“What?”

“The agency sent you here.”

“Yes.”

“I approved your placement.”

He paused.

“But I didn’t choose you.”

I stared at him.

“Then who did?”

Garrett’s expression became darker.

“Someone who wanted me to believe you were harmless.”

Before I could respond, he turned his wheelchair toward the window.

“Rebecca, I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Tonight, after everyone goes to bed, go into my study.”

“Why?”

“There’s a painting behind the bookshelf.”

He looked over his shoulder.

“Move it.”

My heart started beating faster.

“What am I looking for?”

“A black envelope.”

“And then?”

“Don’t open it.”

I stared at him.

“Then why do you want me to get it?”

“Because I need to know whether it’s still there.”

He turned back toward the window.

“And if it isn’t?”

His voice became almost inaudible.

“Then we already know who has been inside my study.”

That day, I watched the family differently.

Evelyn, Garrett’s mother, was an elegant woman in her late seventies. She walked slowly but carried herself with the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

She loved Garrett.

At least, that’s what I initially thought.

She sat beside him during breakfast and asked about his therapy.

“Any improvement?”

Garrett smiled.

“Some.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t get discouraged. You may never walk again, but you can still have a good life.”

Garrett lowered his eyes.

I saw something pass across his face.

Not sadness.

Anger.

Then it was gone.

Douglas arrived late.

He kissed his mother on the cheek and sat across from his brother.

“So, Garrett, the board meeting is Friday.”

Garrett looked up.

“I know.”

“You don’t need to attend.”

“I’ll attend by video.”

Douglas laughed.

“There’s really no point. You’re still recovering.”

Garrett’s jaw tightened.

“I am still president.”

The room went silent.

Gertrude suddenly spoke.

“Everyone is only trying to protect you.”

Garrett looked at her.

“From what?”

She smiled.

“From unnecessary stress.”

I said nothing.

But I noticed something.

Douglas and Gertrude exchanged a glance.

It lasted less than a second.

But I saw it.

And I began to wonder if Garrett wasn’t the only person in that house hiding something.

That afternoon, I took Garrett outside into the garden.

The grounds were enormous.

Beautiful.

Almost unnaturally quiet.

As I pushed his wheelchair along the stone path, he said, “Don’t look behind you.”

I froze.

“Why?”

“Because Douglas is watching us from the window.”

I continued walking.

“Does he know?”

“Not yet.”

“How long have you been hiding your recovery?”

“Six weeks.”

I nearly stopped again.

“Six weeks?”

Garrett nodded.

“The doctors told my family I had almost no neurological improvement.”

“But you were improving.”

“Fast.”

“Why didn’t you tell them?”

He looked at me.

“Because three weeks after my accident, I overheard a conversation.”

“Between who?”

“My brother and my attorney.”

My chest tightened.

“What did they say?”

Garrett looked toward the trees.

“They were discussing what would happen if I died.”

I swallowed.

“Your accident was eight months ago.”

“Yes.”

“And they were already discussing your death?”

“They weren’t discussing whether I might die.”

He paused.

“They were discussing what they would inherit.”

I stopped pushing the wheelchair.

Garrett turned toward me.

“That’s when I realized something was wrong.”

That night, the house became strangely quiet.

At eleven thirty, I waited.

At midnight, I left my room.

I walked barefoot down the hallway.

Every sound seemed louder than it should have been.

The grandfather clock downstairs ticked slowly.

One.

Two.

Three.

I reached Garrett’s study.

The door was unlocked.

I entered.

Moonlight came through the windows.

I found the bookshelf.

There were hundreds of books.

I searched behind the paintings.

Nothing.

Then I remembered Garrett’s instructions.

“The painting behind the bookshelf.”

I moved several books aside.

There was a small framed photograph.

I lifted it.

Behind it was a narrow wooden panel.

My fingers found an edge.

I pulled.

A section of the bookshelf moved.

Behind it was a small compartment.

Empty.

My heart dropped.

The black envelope was gone.

I stood completely still.

Someone had taken it.

Then I heard a sound behind me.

A floorboard creaked.

I turned.

The doorway was empty.

“Who’s there?”

Nothing.

I stepped into the hallway.

At the far end, a shadow disappeared around the corner.

I ran.

But whoever it was had already vanished.

I returned to the study, locked the door, and pulled out my phone.