Chapter 4 - Three Minutes at 2:17 A.M.
Daniel Moretti had documented his sister’s sleepwalking.
Dozens of photographs.
Dates written beneath them.
Some from 1983.
Anna standing in the garden.
Anna beside the chapel.
Anna opening the west service corridor.
Anna holding brass token fourteen.
Emma sat on the floor because her legs stopped working.
“This happened before.”
Lucian crouched beside her.
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
“Yes.”
“So whoever is doing this to me learned it here.”
Marco searched the room.
Daniel’s desk contained notebooks.
Most pages had rotted.
One remained readable.
Anna is not sick. Father is making her sick.
Lucian’s expression changed.
Their grandfather, Lorenzo Moretti.
The legendary patriarch.
Family mythology turned him into a ruthless genius.
He built the empire.
Controlled Boston docks.
Never betrayed blood.
Apparently mythology had editing.
Another line:
She carries things and remembers nothing. Father calls her the perfect courier.
Emma felt cold.
Courier.
That was it.
Anna had not been conditioned for random cruelty.
She had been used.
A sleepwalking girl could cross a house without servants asking why.
If guards knew she wandered at night, they ignored her.
She moved keys.
Documents.
Messages.
Maybe contraband.
Lorenzo used his own daughter as an unconscious courier.
“But why recreate this now?” Emma asked.
Marco answered.
“Security.”
Modern Moretti security was almost impossible to bypass.
Cameras.
Biometrics.
Logs.
But staff?
Especially a sleepwalking maid?
People might ignore behavior that looked accidental.
And if camera feeds were interrupted for three minutes—
Someone could use Emma to carry physical items through zones without attaching their own identity to them.
Lucian’s face darkened.
“What has she moved?”
They reviewed every episode date from the notebook.
Each corresponded with something unusual.
One night, a key vanished from Marco’s office then reappeared the next morning.
Another, a signed port contract briefly disappeared.
Another, Lucian found his desk drawer open but nothing visibly taken.
Emma had been used to copy access.
Move keys.
Possibly photograph documents.
“Why last night?” she asked.
“The suitcase,” Lucian said.
Someone wanted her to retrieve something from hidden locker fourteen.
Then carry it to his bedroom.
“What?”
They searched her nightgown pockets from the previous night.
Nothing.
Then Lucian remembered the button.
When Emma grabbed his shirt, something else might have transferred.
He searched the floor beside the bed.
Under the frame, Marco found a micro-SD card.
Tiny.
Emma stared.
“I brought that?”
Likely.
Hidden inside the brass token?
Marco inspected it.
The token unscrewed.
Empty cavity.
Emma had carried the memory card inside it.
When she grabbed Lucian, token opened, card fell.
The kiss had interrupted the delivery.
“Delivery to whom?” Emma asked.
Lucian’s bedroom was the destination.
But if Lucian himself was not intended recipient—
Someone had access later.
Housekeeping?
Security?
A hidden passage?
They checked Daniel’s forgotten room.
Behind a wardrobe was another door.
It opened into Lucian’s closet.
Someone could enter his private bedroom without using hallway security.
Lucian looked murderous.
“Seal every tunnel.”
Emma stopped him.
“No.”
He turned.
“If we seal them, whoever is using them knows we discovered everything.”
Marco nodded slowly.
“She’s right.”
Lucian hated being outvoted.
Emma continued.
“We leave it.”
“You are not walking through it again.”
“I didn’t say I would.”
“You were going to.”
“I was thinking.”
“I know what your thinking looks like.”
She stared.
“You’ve known me six weeks.”
“Long six weeks.”
Marco coughed to hide laughter.
They examined the SD card.
Encrypted.
Moretti cybersecurity opened it after six hours.
Inside:
Audio recordings.
Financial spreadsheets.
Photographs of meetings.
Nothing worth risking Emma.
Until the final folder.
L.M. SUCCESSION
Lucian Moretti.
Succession.
The folder contained profiles of every captain in his organization.
Loyalty scores.
Debts.
Affairs.
Medical vulnerabilities.
Information detailed enough to destroy his command structure.
Someone had been assembling a takeover manual.
At the bottom:
A schedule.
Phase 4: Remove L.M. — September 17.
Today was September 12.
Five days.
Lucian looked at Emma.
“Now you leave.”
“No.”
“I am not asking.”
“Then I’m not listening.”
His eyes flashed.
“Someone has drugged you, entered your room, manipulated your sleep and used you to breach my security.”
“Yes.”
“You stay and they keep using you.”
“Exactly.”
He stared.
Emma stepped closer.
“I’m the only route they think is still hidden.”
“No.”
“If I disappear, they know the route is compromised.”
“No.”
“If I stay—”
“No.”
She laughed in disbelief.
“You really only know one word when frightened.”
“I am not frightened.”
“You are terrified.”
Silence.
Lucian looked away.
Emma softened.
“I don’t want to be bait.”
“Good.”
“I want to catch whoever turned me into it.”
That distinction reached him.
“Together,” she added.
His gaze returned.
“Under my conditions.”
“No.”
His jaw flexed.
“Under conditions we agree on.”
He exhaled.
“Fine.”
The plan was simple.
Dangerously simple.
Emma would resume normal duties.
Her personal lotion replaced with clean product.
The hidden speaker remained.
Camera interruptions would be mirrored to a private recording system unknown to the traitor.
Emma would pretend the conditioning still worked.
And at 2:17 the next morning—
They would see who came to collect her.
That night, Lucian insisted Emma sleep in the guest room again.
At 1:50, she lay awake.
At 2:08, the hidden speaker activated.
A woman’s voice whispered:
“Emma.”
Her skin crawled.
“Fourteen sleeps.”
Pause.
“Black suitcase.”
Pause.
“Daniel is waiting.”
Emma kept her breathing slow.
Then:
“Wake without waking.”
Her door opened.
Someone had used a master key.
Footsteps entered.
Soft.
Familiar.
A hand brushed hair away from Emma’s forehead.
A woman whispered:
“Good girl.”
May you like
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Emma recognized the voice.
Teresa.
