My Daughter Pressed One Button on My Leg Brace—Then My Guard Said, “That Wasn’t Supposed to Open.”

Marcus moved before I could answer.

He lifted Lily into my arms, pushed the chair back, and knelt on the marble. Under the carved wooden frame, hidden behind gold trim, was a black plastic rectangle no bigger than a pack of gum.

A blinking green light pulsed once.

Then stopped.

Nora covered her mouth.

“Is that a camera?” she whispered.

Marcus didn't touch it. “Could be audio. Could be a transmitter.”

“Could be mine?” I asked.

“No.”

That answer landed harder than I expected.

My mansion had seventy-two cameras, four locked network closets, motion sensors, glass-break alarms, and a security system Marcus personally rebuilt after the shooting. Nothing transmitting from my private salon should have existed without his knowledge.

Lily wrapped both arms around my neck. “Are we in trouble?”

I forced a smile. “No. We're being careful.”

Nora's eyes dropped to the floor.

I saw it.

Fear.

Not surprise. Fear.

“Nora.”

She looked up too quickly. “Yes, sir?”

“You know something.”

“No.”

Marcus stood and faced her. “Don't lie now.”

Her face crumpled.

Three nights earlier, she said, she had seen my fiancée, Lauren Whitmore, come into the salon after midnight with Dr. Keller. Nora had been carrying laundry through the hall. They thought she had already gone downstairs.

“What were they doing?” I asked.

“I didn't see everything.”

“What did you see?”

She twisted her apron in both fists. “Dr. Keller was kneeling beside your chair.”

My heart thudded once.

“And Lauren?”

“She was holding your brace.”

I stared at her.

Nora rushed on. “I told myself it was medical. I told myself I was being foolish.”

Marcus glanced at me. “Where is Lauren now?”

“Charity luncheon downtown.”

He shook his head. “Her car never left the property.”