Not yet.
But trust cracked.
I carried Lily across the hall into Grace's old reading room.
“Where is Nora?”
Camille frowned.
“What?”
“Nora. Lily's nanny.”
“She doesn't work here anymore.”
I stared at her.
“What are you talking about?”
“She resigned.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
I actually laughed because the statement was too absurd to absorb.
Nora Bell had worked in my home for almost eight months.
She slept in the east staff wing four nights a week.
She handled Lily's bedtime whenever I traveled.
And apparently she had vanished three weeks earlier without me knowing.
“Why wasn't I told?”
“I handled it.”
“You handled firing my daughter's nanny without telling me?”
“She resigned.”
“Then why didn't she tell me?”
“She sent you an email.”
“I never received one.”
Camille folded her arms.
“You receive hundreds of emails.”
“I would remember one from the woman taking care of my daughter.”
Lily lifted her head.
“Nora go.”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Cami mad.”
Camille snapped.
“Enough.”
Lily flinched so hard that I felt it through my chest.
I looked at my wife.
“Leave the room.”
Her eyes widened.
“Excuse me?”
“Go downstairs.”
“Adrian.”
“Now.”
She stared at me.
The polished hostess disappeared for half a second.
I saw anger.
Cold, naked anger.
Then the smile returned.
“Fine.”
She walked away.
I called Thomas Reed, my head of security.
Thomas had spent twenty-two years in federal protective services before coming to work for my family.
He arrived within minutes.
“What happened?”
I showed him the closet.
He crouched beside the door.
His expression changed when he saw the scratches.
“I want security footage.”
“From the nursery?”
“Everything covering this hallway.”
Thomas hesitated.
“What?”
“The nursery camera hasn't been recording.”
“Since when?”
He pulled out his phone.
“Let me check.”
Lily remained glued to my chest.
Thomas scrolled through the system.
Then stopped.
“Eleven weeks.”
“Who turned it off?”
“It wasn't technically shut down.”
“What does that mean?”
“The video feed was disabled, and the door sensor notifications were rerouted.”
“Rerouted where?”
Thomas looked at me.
“To Mrs. Whitmore's phone.”
My stomach twisted.
“Who authorized that?”
“The request came through your administrator account.”
“I didn't authorize anything.”
Thomas said nothing.
I already knew what his silence meant.
He checked the timestamp.
The change had been requested at 1:48 in the morning on a Wednesday.
I remembered that week.