CHAPTER 8 The Music Box
CHAPTER 8
The Music Box
Khloe stared at the silver music box resting in Elaine’s hands.
It was smaller than she remembered.
Or perhaps everything from childhood had seemed larger.
The lid was engraved with tiny roses.
One corner was dented.
Her initials—K.V.—were carved into the base.
Khloe reached for it.
Samuel stopped her.
“Don’t touch it.”
“It was my father’s.”
“It may be evidence.”
Elaine set it carefully on the tray table.
Khloe looked at her.
“Why did Isabella give it to you?”
“She said she found it in the gala coatroom.”
“And you believed her?”
“No.”
“Then why did you take it?”
“Because she said it belonged to you.”
Samuel frowned.
“When?”
“About an hour before the attack.”
Khloe felt the pieces shifting.
Isabella had brought the box to the hospital.
She had expected Khloe to see it.
Or expected someone else to take it.
“What exactly did she say?” Khloe asked.
Elaine thought back.
“She said, ‘Make sure Khloe gets this before midnight.’”
Samuel’s expression darkened.
“Why midnight?”
“I don’t know.”
Khloe looked at the wall clock.
11:18 p.m.
Forty-two minutes.
Samuel called digital forensics.
“Get someone here now.”
Marcus returned before the technician arrived.
Khloe saw his face.
“What happened?”
He closed the door.
“My mother is in the city.”
Khloe said nothing.
“She met Vanessa and Julian Vale.”
Samuel turned.
“You have proof?”
“Storage facility footage.”
Khloe looked at Marcus.
“Did you know she came back?”
“No.”
“Did you know she had contact with Isabella?”
“They grew up together.”
“Marcus.”
“No. I did not know they were still close.”
Khloe looked at the music box.
“Isabella brought this.”
Marcus recognized it.
“I’ve seen that before.”
Khloe turned.
“Where?”
“In my mother’s study.”
The room went silent.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How many years?”
“Before our wedding.”
Khloe stared at him.
“You saw my father’s music box in your mother’s house?”
“I didn’t know it was yours.”
“What did you think it was?”
“An antique.”
Samuel’s jaw tightened.
“Eleanor had access to David’s belongings after the accident.”
Khloe looked at him.
“How?”
“Edmund handled the legal settlement after David died.”
Marcus turned toward Samuel.
“My father handled it?”
“He represented the hospital’s investment group.”
Khloe felt a bitter laugh rising.
Marcus’s father had helped bury her father’s murder.
Marcus’s mother had kept the key.
And Marcus had married her without knowing any of it.
Or perhaps without wanting to know.
The technician arrived with a portable scanner.
He examined the music box without opening it.
“There’s metal inside the base.”
Samuel leaned closer.
“A compartment?”
“Possibly.”
The technician used a thin instrument to release a hidden latch.
The bottom panel opened.
Inside was a small brass key.
Khloe stared at it.
“Khloe has the key,” Samuel whispered.
There was also a folded strip of paper.
The technician removed it with tweezers and placed it beneath a clear shield.
A handwritten message appeared.
BLUE ROOM.
MIDNIGHT.
TRUST NO THORNE.
Marcus read the final line.
His face tightened.
Khloe looked at the clock.
11:24 p.m.
“What blue room?” Brooks asked.
Samuel’s expression changed.
“The original pediatric wing.”
Elaine looked confused.
“That wing was closed years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why is it called the blue room?”
“Because the walls were painted blue after a donor renovation.”
Marcus looked at the note.
“My father funded that renovation.”
Samuel nodded.
The message had not warned Khloe to trust no Rossi.
It had warned her to trust no Thorne.
Marcus understood what everyone else was thinking.
“Khloe.”
She looked at him.
“I did not know.”
“I believe you.”
The answer surprised him.
Then she continued.
“But I don’t know if I can trust what you don’t know.”
That hurt more.
Because it was true.
Detective Brooks checked the time.
“We are not sending Khloe anywhere.”
Khloe pushed the blanket aside.
“Yes, we are.”
Marcus stepped forward.
“No.”
“The message says midnight.”
“You are having contractions.”
“And someone has spent sixteen years making sure I never opened that box.”
Samuel shook his head.
“The blue room could be a trap.”
“It could also contain the evidence my father died protecting.”
Marcus looked at the monitor.
“Our child matters more.”
Khloe’s eyes flashed.
“Do not use our baby to silence me.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It is exactly what every man in this room has done. You all decide what danger I am allowed to understand.”
Samuel said quietly, “Khloe, this is different.”
“No. It isn’t.”
The obstetrician entered.
She looked at Khloe’s chart.
“The contractions have slowed.”
Khloe looked at her.
“Can I be moved?”
“To another room?”
“To another wing.”
The doctor frowned.
“I cannot recommend that.”
“But can I?”
“With a wheelchair, monitoring equipment, and medical staff.”
Marcus stared at the doctor.
“You are not helping.”
“She asked a medical question.”
Khloe looked at him.
“I am going.”
Samuel exhaled slowly.
“Then we control every step.”
At 11:46 p.m., a small group moved through the hospital’s restricted corridors.
Khloe sat in a wheelchair.
Marcus walked beside her.
Samuel carried the music box.
Detective Brooks led with two officers.
A nurse followed with a portable fetal monitor.
Elaine remained behind under protection.
The old pediatric wing smelled of dust and antiseptic.
Most lights were off.
Their footsteps echoed.
At the end of the hall stood a faded blue door.
The brass key fit the lock.
Samuel turned it.
The door opened.
Inside was a small abandoned treatment room.
Blue walls.
A rusted cabinet.
A single wooden chair.
Nothing else.
Khloe looked around.
“We’re too late.”
Then the lights went out.
A nurse gasped.
Marcus immediately moved in front of Khloe.
Detective Brooks drew her weapon.
“Police! Show yourself!”
A sound came from the far wall.
A mechanical click.
Then part of the blue panel slid open.
Behind it was a safe.
The music box began playing by itself.
A soft childhood melody filled the darkness.
Then a man’s voice came through the hospital intercom.
Julian Vale.
“Samuel.”
Samuel froze.
Julian continued.
“You always were predictable.”
Khloe gripped the wheelchair.
“Where are you?”
The voice ignored her.
“Open the safe before midnight, and the truth survives.”
Marcus looked at the clock on his phone.
11:58 p.m.
Julian’s voice became colder.
“Fail, and the hospital servers erase everything.”
Samuel stepped toward the safe.
“What is the code?”
Julian laughed softly.
“Ask David’s daughter.”
Khloe stared at the keypad.
Six digits.
Her birthday?
Her father’s death?
Then she remembered the first song her father taught her on the piano.
Six notes.
C.
A.
D.
E.
N.
C.
Not numbers.
Unless the letters corresponded to something else.
The music box repeated the melody.
Six notes.
Khloe looked at the engraved roses.
There were six.
Each flower had a different number of petals.
She entered the sequence.
The safe clicked open.
Inside were three ledgers.
A flash drive.
And a sealed envelope addressed to Khloe.
Before anyone could touch them, an alarm exploded through the corridor.
The nurse looked at the fetal monitor.
“Her heart rate is dropping.”
May you like
Khloe looked down.
Blood had begun spreading across the white blanket covering her legs.
