Chapter 4 - The Deleted Week.
Daniel opened the library door without knocking.
Vanessa stood beside the fireplace with her wine glass untouched on the mantel.
"You deleted the security recordings."
It was not a question.
Vanessa looked past him toward Lily.
"She should not be part of this conversation."
Daniel stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"Why did you delete them?"
Vanessa folded her arms.
"Because I value privacy."
"You have lived with those cameras for three years."
"And I have hated them for three years."
Daniel studied her face.
He had once loved how composed Vanessa could remain under pressure.
Now that composure looked different.
Calculated.
"You chose this week to care about privacy?"
"I was tired of feeling watched."
"Then why not disable live recording?"
Vanessa said nothing.
Daniel walked to his desk and opened the security app on his laptop.
The deletion history showed exact times.
Tuesday at 11:42 p.m.
Wednesday at 12:03 a.m.
Thursday at 1:18 p.m.
Someone had deleted recordings more than once.
"You didn't clear everything at once."
Vanessa looked toward the window.
"I don't remember."
"You remembered your password each time."
"Daniel, stop speaking to me like a suspect."
"Then stop giving me reasons to question you."
The words hung between them.
Vanessa set down her glass.
"You have been gone constantly for six months."
Daniel blinked.
The accusation changed direction so quickly that he almost admired it.
"This is about my travel now?"
"This is about me holding this household together while you disappear into meetings and flights."
"Holding it together does not mean controlling Lily."
"Someone had to set boundaries."
"Not like this."
Vanessa's eyes hardened.
"You indulge her because you feel guilty."
Daniel knew what she meant.
Lily's mother, Rebecca, had died when Lily was seven after a sudden medical emergency.
For years Daniel had wondered whether every gift, every trip, every extra hour beside his daughter's bed had been love or compensation for what they had both lost.
Vanessa had once seemed to understand that grief.
She had entered their lives gently.
She never demanded to be called Mom.
She sat through school concerts.
She learned Lily's favorite breakfast.
She spent two years earning trust.
That history made the present harder to understand.
"Did you tell her I approved of the uniform?"
Vanessa did not answer.
"Did you tell her I didn't want her calling me?"
"She was interrupting you."
"Did you tell her that?"
Vanessa's silence answered.
Daniel moved closer to the desk.
"What happened last Friday in this room?"
For the first time, Vanessa looked genuinely startled.
"What did she tell you?"
Daniel caught the wording.
Not nothing happened.
Not I don't know what you're talking about.
What did she tell you?
"She said the study door was locked."
Vanessa's shoulders relaxed slightly.
"For a few minutes."
"Why?"
"She was having a tantrum."
"Lily does not have tantrums."
"You don't see everything."
Daniel's phone rang.
It was Teresa.
He answered immediately.
"Mr. Whitmore, I remembered something."
Vanessa stared at the phone.
"Go ahead."
"There is another camera."
Daniel frowned.
"Where?"
"The old nursery monitor you put in the service corridor when the plumbers were working last winter."
He remembered it.
A battery-powered Wi-Fi camera had been installed temporarily near the laundry entrance after expensive tools disappeared during renovation.
Daniel thought it had been removed.
"Is it still there?"
"I saw it last week behind the linen cabinet."
Daniel opened a second app on his phone.
The device still appeared in his account.
CAMERA 09 - SERVICE CORRIDOR.
Vanessa's face drained of color.
Daniel tapped the archive.
Unlike the main security system, the camera stored clips in a separate cloud account.
There were dozens of motion recordings.
He selected the previous Friday.
The thumbnail showed Lily in the black-and-white uniform standing beside the study door.
Daniel's thumb hovered over play.
Vanessa moved quickly toward him.
"Don't."
He looked at her.
Her mask finally slipped.
"Why not?"
"Because you will misunderstand what you see."
Daniel's voice became almost a whisper.
May you like
"Then help me understand it."
He pressed play.
