Chapter 7: The Drawer Madison Could Not Open
Madison reached the wall before I did.
I stayed several steps behind her, holding the black smartphone with both hands. The phone felt heavier than it had in the foyer. My fingers had cramped around its edges, but I did not loosen them. Its screen showed Madison’s back, the crimson fabric of her pantsuit, and the pale shape of her hand sliding along the wall beneath a framed panel.
The mansion was quiet except for footsteps behind me. Clara had remained near the foyer, and Ethan was moving after us. I could not see either of them now, but I knew Ethan was coming because his shoes struck the floor with a steady, hard rhythm.
Madison stopped at a section of dark wood between two tall columns. It looked like part of the wall. Nothing about it stood out until she pressed her palm against one narrow seam. A panel shifted inward by the smallest amount.
I lifted the phone higher.
The camera caught her face when she glanced back. Her confidence had tightened into something sharper. She saw the phone pointed at her and turned away again, but she did not leave. Instead, she crouched and ran her fingers along the lower edge of the panel.
I remembered the earlier recording. I remembered her hands moving through the mansion, searching while Clara tried to stay out of her way. I remembered the sudden shove, Clara falling, and the water spreading across the marble. Madison had not been looking for help then. She had been looking for something hidden.
Now her hands were in the same kind of motion.
She pushed at the panel again. It moved just far enough to reveal a narrow drawer set into the wall. Madison hooked two fingers beneath its edge and pulled. The drawer slid out a fraction, then stopped.
She tried again, harder.
The wood gave a dry creak. Her shoulders rose. She looked over her shoulder toward the hall, and I saw Ethan entering the edge of the phone screen.
Madison pulled once more. The drawer came forward only a little, leaving a dark line between itself and the wall. She leaned close, trying to see inside. Her hand disappeared into the gap, searching without being able to reach far enough.
I backed away until my heel touched the base of a column. The phone shook so badly that Madison blurred on the screen. I pressed my elbows against my ribs and kept recording.
Ethan came into view. Clara was behind him, one hand close to her mouth. The blood at the corner of her lip had dried into a thin dark mark. She stayed inside the mansion, partly sheltered by his body, but her eyes remained fixed on Madison and the open panel.
Madison noticed Ethan. Her fingers froze inside the drawer.
For several seconds, nobody moved. The narrow opening remained between Madison’s hand and the hidden space. Whatever was inside stayed out of reach. The documents were still concealed.
Ethan stepped closer, stopping between Clara and Madison. He did not take the phone from me. He did not reach for the drawer. His attention moved from Madison’s crouched position to the panel, then to my screen.
I kept the camera trained on her hands.
Madison slowly withdrew them. She stood, leaving the drawer partly open. Her face had lost the calm expression she had worn in the foyer. Behind Ethan, Clara lowered her eyes, but she did not retreat.
The phone continued recording.
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Ethan now saw the place Madison had searched, the drawer she had tried to open, and the exact purpose behind her movement. He looked at me only once, then back at Madison.
His next decision waited in the space between them.
