Chapter 1 - The Man Who Could Only Answer With His Eyes

The room seemed to shrink around Grant’s hand.

His fingers were weak against my wrist, barely more than pressure, but the meaning was unmistakable. He had heard me. He understood me. And he was asking me to believe what my own eyes had already begun to accept.

I looked at Leo sleeping in the portable crib beside the window. His cheeks were flushed from teething, one fist tucked beneath his chin. Every sensible part of me said to pick him up, pack our two suitcases, and leave the Sterling estate before sunrise.

Instead, I pulled the chair closer to Grant’s bed.

“Can you answer yes or no?”

One slow blink.

“Did Dr. Barragan do this to you on purpose?”

Grant’s gaze shifted away.

Not yes. Not no.

I tried again. “Do you know?”

Two blinks.

No.

That surprised me enough that I sat back.

I had spent the last hour imagining Grant trapped inside his own body while everyone around him conspired over his inheritance. But the truth was messier. He suspected something. He knew Julian was involved. He did not know exactly how.

That uncertainty made everything more dangerous, not less.

“Is Julian trying to kill you?”

Grant closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he blinked once.

My stomach turned.

I lowered my voice even though the door was closed. “Why?”

His jaw tightened. No sound came out.

“You can’t tell me yet.”

One blink.

I reached for the notepad from the bedside table, then stopped. If Julian came in and saw written questions, we would be finished. I slid the pad back where it had been.

Grant watched me.

“Do you have someone outside this house you trust?”

One blink.

“A doctor?”

Two blinks.

“A lawyer?”

One blink.

“Someone who knows Julian?”

One blink.

I exhaled slowly. “That narrows it down to approximately half of Los Angeles.”

The corner of Grant’s mouth moved.

At first I thought it was another involuntary twitch. Then I realized he had almost smiled.

The absurdity of it hit me so hard I nearly laughed, but footsteps sounded in the hall.

Grant’s face went blank.

I stood, pulled the blanket higher over him, and moved toward Leo as the door opened.

Julian stepped inside.

He wore a navy suit this time, no tie, the top button of his shirt undone. He looked as though he had slept very well.

“Still here?” he asked.

“I work here.”

“Your shift ended an hour ago.”

“Leo finally went down. I didn’t want to wake him moving back to the service quarters.”

Julian’s eyes drifted to the crib.

Then to Grant.

Then to me.

He had the kind of face that always seemed to be evaluating a price.

“My uncle kept you up?”

“No.”

“That would be difficult, considering he can’t speak.”

I forced myself not to look at Grant.

Julian walked to the foot of the bed and studied the monitor. “Barragan says his breathing is getting worse.”

“I heard.”

“Then you understand we need quiet. No unnecessary excitement. No visitors.”

“Who would visit?”

His eyes moved back to mine.

It was a simple question. I had meant it to sound simple.

Instead, something sharpened in his expression.

“Exactly.”

He left without saying goodbye.

I did not move until the door clicked shut.

Grant’s eyes were open.

“He suspects me,” I whispered.

One blink.

“That’s not helpful.”

Another almost-smile.

I pointed at him. “You are in no position to be amused.”

His eyelids lowered, then rose. If he could have shrugged, I think he would have.

For the first time since I had taken the job, Grant Sterling stopped feeling like a famous dying billionaire and started feeling like a person. A stubborn, trapped, inconvenient person whose life might depend on a woman with eighty-three dollars in her checking account and a baby who still woke twice a night.

I sat beside him again.

“We need a better system.”

It took us nearly two hours.

I wrote the alphabet in four rough groups on a page I could destroy afterward. I would say the groups aloud. Grant would blink when I reached the correct one. Then I would narrow down the letter.

It was painfully slow.

The first word took eleven minutes.

N.

A.

O.

M.

I.

“Naomi?”

One blink.

“Naomi who?”

We started again.

P.

A.

R.

K.

“Naomi Park.”

One blink.

I knew the name.

Not personally, but I had seen it printed beneath Grant’s signature on legal folders in his office before he became bedridden. Naomi Park was general counsel for Sterling Transit Group.

“Does she know you’re awake?”

Two blinks.

“Does she know Julian is dangerous?”

Grant hesitated.

Then two blinks.

No.

That was worse than I expected.

“Can I call her?”

One blink.

“From my phone?”

Two.

“House phone?”

Two.

I stared at him. “Is Julian monitoring calls?”

One blink.

I rubbed my forehead.

Leo stirred in the crib and gave a small, sleepy whine. I went to him automatically, lifting him against my shoulder. His body was warm and heavy with sleep.

When I turned back, Grant was watching us.

Not me.

Leo.

Something in his expression changed. It was so slight I could have missed it: grief, maybe, or longing.

“Do you have children?” I asked.

Grant looked away.

One blink.

I waited.

“Do they know you’re sick?”

His throat worked.

One blink.

“Are they here?”

Two.

That question seemed to cost him more than the others.

I did not press.

The next morning, Nancy, the house manager, intercepted me outside the laundry room.

She was sixty-two, wore her gray hair in a sharp bob, and had the permanent posture of a woman who believed every problem could be solved by a clipboard.

“Julian says Leo can’t remain in the main house.”

I stopped folding a stack of towels.

“He has never been in the main house except when I’m working overnight.”

“That counts.”

“Grant never complained.”

Nancy’s mouth tightened. “Mr. Sterling is not making household decisions.”

The sentence landed harder than she intended.

“Who is?”

She glanced toward the hallway before answering.

“Mariana.”

“Who is?”

“Don’t.”

That was the first time I understood Nancy was afraid.

Not annoyed. Not loyal to Julian. Afraid.

I lowered my voice. “How long have you worked here?”

“Twenty-three years.”

“Then you knew Grant before Julian started speaking for him.”

Her face went still.

I stepped closer. “Does this feel normal to you?”

Nancy stared at me for three long seconds.

Then she picked up the folded towels and said, “Your son’s pediatric appointment is Thursday at ten.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You put it on the staff calendar last week.”

“Yes.”

“You should take him.”

“I was going to.”

“Take him yourself. Do not use one of the estate cars.”

She walked away.

I stood there with my pulse beating in my throat.

That afternoon, Barragan arrived early.

I was changing Grant’s pillowcase when he entered. His medical bag looked exactly as it had the day before.

“Out,” he said.

“I’m his caregiver.”

“You’re domestic support.”

“I help with his personal care.”

“Not while I’m examining him.”

Julian appeared behind him as if summoned.

“Mariana,” he said pleasantly, “take Leo for a walk.”

I looked at Grant.

His face did not change.

His eyes did.

Door.

Someone coming.

That was the signal we had made during the night.

Except they were already here.

I lifted Leo and left.

But I did not go outside.

I pushed the laundry cart into the service corridor and stood behind the half-open linen-room door.

Ten minutes passed.

Then fifteen.

Barragan emerged first.

Julian followed.

“You said five days,” Julian murmured.

“I said maybe five.”

“I need certainty.”

“There is no certainty.”

“There needs to be.”

Barragan stopped walking.

“This is not a machine, Julian.”

“No. It’s a man who was supposed to be gone by now.”

My hands went cold around the laundry cart.

Barragan lowered his voice. “Then stop rushing me.”

They moved out of range.

I stayed frozen behind the door.

Not because I had learned Julian wanted Grant dead. I already knew that.

Because of what Barragan had said.

Stop rushing me.

The doctor was not merely treating Grant while Julian waited.

He was involved.

Maybe willingly. Maybe not.

But involved.

That evening I returned to Grant’s room after the house quieted.

I locked the door.

Grant’s eyes opened immediately.

“Barragan is part of it,” I whispered.

His face tightened.

“I heard them.”

I sat down beside him and took out the small alphabet page.

“We don’t have five days.”

Grant blinked once.

Then, with enormous effort, he moved two fingers against the blanket.

I leaned closer.

His lips parted.

The sound that came out was barely a breath.

“Thursday.”

My heart stopped.

“What happens Thursday?”

His eyes fixed on mine.

We used the alphabet.

It took twenty minutes.

B.

O.

A.

R.

D.

Board.

Another word.

V.

O.

T.

E.

I stared at him.

“Julian is taking control of the company Thursday?”

One blink.

Tomorrow.

Leo shifted in my lap and reached for the edge of Grant’s blanket.

Grant’s fingers moved weakly toward him.

And in that moment, I understood the real countdown.

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Julian did not need Grant dead someday.

He needed him silent until the board voted tomorrow.