Chapter 10 - The Phantom on the Third Floor
Lily shook her head, her light brown hair swaying around her small shoulders. "I didn't see his face. But he gave me this phone while everyone was downstairs getting flowers," she explained, holding the device out toward Julian. "He told me to wait until the bride walked down the aisle, and then he said, Show her what she hid."
Julian took the phone back, his fingers brushing the cool glass. The implications washed over him in a cold wave. If Noah had come through the front, and the detective had arrived through the courtyard, someone else had been hiding on the third-floor landing—someone who knew about Clara Vance, the adoption ring, and the baby.
"There's a service stairwell at the back of the mezzanine," Noah murmured, his eyes darting toward the ornate staircase. "It connects directly to the third-floor storage rooms. If someone was up there watching us the entire time..."
"They're still up there," Julian finished, standing up abruptly.
Without another word, Julian turned and sprinted toward the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time. His tuxedo jacket billowed behind him, the crisp fabric catching on the carved wooden banister. Noah was right behind him, his shoes thudding heavily against the polished oak steps. They bypassed the second-floor bridal suite—now empty, smelling faintly of expensive perfume and crushed cosmetics—and pushed through a heavy fire door leading to the third-floor attic and storage loft.
The air up here was cooler, smelling of old dust, cedar, and faint traces of cigarette smoke. The long, narrow hallway was dimly lit by a single flickering bulb hanging from a frayed cord. Shadows stretched and danced along the exposed brick walls.
"Hello?" Julian called out, his voice echoing into the cavernous space. "Who's there? Show yourself!"
At the far end of the hallway, a door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of natural light cutting across the wooden floorboards. Footsteps scuffed hurriedly against the floor inside the room, followed by the sharp rattle of a window being forced open.
Julian broke into a run, his heart hammering against his ribs. He threw his shoulder against the wooden door, sending it crashing wide open.
The room was empty, save for a wooden desk pushed against the wall. On top of the desk sat an open laptop, its screen glowing brightly in the dim room, displaying a live security camera feed of the grand ballroom downstairs—and right beside it, a stack of birth certificates bearing Clara Vance’s signature.
Noah rushed into the room just behind Julian, his eyes scanning the open window where a metal fire escape ladder swung gently in the autumn breeze.
"He just left," Noah panted, gripping the windowsill and looking out into the alleyway below.
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Julian stepped up to the desk, his eyes locked onto the glowing laptop screen. The live feed had captured every second of the confrontation, the arrest, and the empty ballroom. But what caught his breath in his throat was the chat window open on the side of the screen, containing a freshly sent message addressed to a local journalist.
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