Chapter 1 - The Little Red LightAgnes Mercer believed the kitchen camera had been dead for months.
That was why she never looked up.
Maddox sat strapped into his high chair, cheeks wet with tears, oatmeal smeared across his mouth, chin, and pale-blue shirt.
He was barely one year old.
Too young to understand why the woman feeding him sounded angry every time he turned his head.
“Eat.”
Agnes lifted another spoonful.
Maddox twisted away.
The oatmeal streaked across his cheek.
Agnes’s jaw tightened.
“I said eat.”
He cried harder.
From the hallway, nine-year-old Beckett heard him.
He had been sitting on the stairs pretending to read because Agnes had ordered him to stay upstairs.
But he knew Maddox’s cries.
Hungry cry.
Sleepy cry.
Scared cry.
This was the scared one.
Beckett ran.
He reached the kitchen doorway just as Agnes grabbed Maddox’s chin.
“Stop fighting me.”
Maddox turned again.
The spoon fell.
Agnes’s patience snapped.
Her hand moved quickly.
A sharp slap.
Maddox screamed.
Beckett froze.
Then exploded.
“GRANDMA! STOP!”
Agnes spun around.
For half a second, guilt crossed her face.
Then anger replaced it.
“You were told to stay upstairs.”
“You hit him!”
“He needs discipline.”
“He’s a baby!”
Agnes stood.
“Don’t speak to me like that.”
Beckett ran to Maddox.
His little brother reached for him, crying so hard his body shook.
Beckett touched his arm.
“It’s okay.”
Agnes laughed bitterly.
“No, it isn’t.”
Beckett looked at her.
“What?”
She stared at both boys.
Something ugly moved behind her eyes.
“Neither of you belongs in this family.”
Beckett’s face changed.
Agnes continued.
“You’re both bastards.”
He swallowed.
She had said things before.
Not that word.
“What does that mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.”
“No.”
“Your mother knew.”
Beckett went still.
Nobody was supposed to speak badly about Mom.
Not in front of him.
Not ever.
Agnes leaned closer.
“Your father just refuses to accept what she did.”
“Mom didn’t do anything.”
“You’re a child.”
“And you’re lying.”
Agnes’s face twisted.
“Watch your mouth.”
Beckett pointed upward.
“Dad’s going to see.”
Agnes followed his finger.
The black camera sat above the kitchen doorway.
Dust along one edge.
Tiny lens pointed toward the room.
Then Agnes laughed.
A full laugh.
Almost relieved.
“That?”
Beckett said nothing.
“That thing hasn’t worked since before your mother died.”
Her smile became cruel.
“So go ahead.”
She turned toward Maddox.
“Tell your father whatever story you want.”
Beckett looked at the camera again.
He knew something Agnes didn’t.
Three weeks earlier, he had found the smart-home control panel inside the pantry while searching for batteries.
The kitchen camera had not been broken.
It had been switched off.
There was a difference.
Beckett knew because Mom had shown him once.
“See this?”
Nora Mercer had pointed at the tiny switch.
“If the light is dark, it can’t send.”
“Why would I need to know?”
“You probably won’t.”
She smiled and kissed his forehead.
“But knowing how things work is never bad.”
That had been almost six months before she died.
Beckett had never forgotten.
Now Agnes turned back to the high chair.
Beckett stepped into the pantry.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting a towel.”
Agnes rolled her eyes.
He reached behind the shelf.
Found the switch.
His finger trembled.
CLICK.
Nothing happened for one second.
Then—
A tiny red light appeared over the kitchen door.
Beckett stared at it.
Connected.
Agnes didn’t notice.
Not yet.
Thirty-four miles away, Clayton Mercer sat inside a glass conference room on the twenty-seventh floor of Mercer Financial Group.
Twelve executives surrounded the table.
A presentation about a hospital acquisition filled the wall screen.
Clayton hadn’t checked his phone in forty minutes.
Then it vibrated.
HOME CAMERA ONLINE.
He almost ignored it.
Beckett sometimes played with the smart system.
Then another notification arrived.
KITCHEN — MOTION DETECTED.
Clayton glanced down.
Tapped.
The livestream opened.
At first, he couldn’t understand what he was seeing.
Maddox crying.
Food across his face.
Beckett beside him.
Agnes standing over both boys.
Clayton turned up the volume.
Agnes said:
“If your father had any sense, he would have sent both of you away when your mother died.”
Clayton stopped breathing.
Around him, the meeting continued.
Someone said his name.
He didn’t hear.
Beckett shouted:
“Don’t talk about Mom!”
Agnes stepped toward him.
“Your mother lied to everyone.”
Clayton pushed his chair back.
Across the table, his chief financial officer looked up.
“Clayton?”
He was already standing.
Then he heard Agnes say:
“You think because he calls you his sons, that makes it true?”
Clayton’s entire body went cold.
“Mother?”
The microphone icon was directly beneath his thumb.
He hit it.
His voice exploded through the Mercer kitchen.
“MOTHER?!”
Agnes froze.
Slowly, she lifted her head.
Her eyes found the camera.
The red light was glowing.
Beckett looked at it too.
Then at his grandmother.
Agnes went white.
Clayton didn’t bother collecting his laptop.
“Get away from my children.”
“Clayton—”
“NOW.”
He was already moving toward the conference-room door.
“Clayton, you don’t understand.”
“I understand what I just watched.”
“It isn’t what you think.”
He almost laughed.
Maddox was still crying.
Beckett was trying to clean his face with a dish towel.
Clayton said:
“Beckett.”
His son looked up.
“Dad?”
“Take Maddox into my office.”
Agnes stepped forward.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Clayton’s voice dropped.
“Do not touch either child.”
Something in his tone stopped her.
Beckett unfastened Maddox carefully.
He wasn’t strong enough to carry him easily, but he managed.
“Lock the office door.”
“Okay.”
“I’m coming home.”
Beckett disappeared from view with his brother.
Agnes remained beneath the camera.
For several seconds, mother and son stared at each other through a lens she thought was dead.
Then Agnes whispered:
“You have no idea what Nora did to you.”
Clayton stopped walking.
“What did you just say?”
But Agnes had already turned away.
The kitchen went empty.
Clayton drove home in twenty-eight minutes.
He called the nanny, the pediatrician, and his attorney on the way.
He called no one in the family.
Not yet.
When he entered the mansion, Beckett ran into him.
Clayton dropped to his knees.
His son hit him hard enough to almost knock him backward.
“Dad.”
“I’ve got you.”
“Grandma said—”
“I know.”
“She hit Maddox.”
“I know.”
“I turned the camera on.”
Clayton held him tighter.
“You did exactly the right thing.”
Beckett started crying.
“I thought maybe it really was broken.”
“It wasn’t.”
“No.”
Clayton pulled back.
His son’s face was pale.
“Dad?”
“What?”
“Why did Grandma say Mom lied?”
Clayton’s chest tightened.
“I don’t know.”
It was true.
And that frightened him more than anything else.
That evening, after a doctor checked Maddox and confirmed he was physically okay, Clayton sat with the home-security technician.
“Show me everything.”
The technician opened the camera archive.
Living room.
Driveway.
Nursery.
Hallway.
Kitchen.
Clayton frowned.
There was a gap.
Not hours.
Not days.
Sixty-three days.
Beginning two weeks before Nora died.
Ending three weeks after her funeral.
Clayton stared.
“Where’s the footage?”
The technician typed.
“Deleted.”
“By who?”
A pause.
“Administrator account.”
“Whose?”
The technician looked at him.
“Agnes Mercer.”
Clayton went cold.
Then the technician frowned.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“There’s a second device token attached to the deletions.”
Clayton leaned closer.
“Whose?”
The technician stared at the screen.
Then looked at him.
“Warren Mercer.”
Clayton stopped breathing.
May you like
His younger brother.
And suddenly Agnes’s cruelty was no longer the only thing hiding inside those missing sixty-three days.
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