CHAPTER EIGHT The Camera That Never Recorded
No one in the surveillance room said a word.
Every eye remained fixed on the frozen image of the elderly man.
White beard.
Black cane.
A faint smile beneath the brim of his hat.
The timestamp in the corner still read 3:42 PM.
And beneath it, glowing in red letters across the technician's diagnostic screen:
CAMERA 12: OFFLINE.
Last operational date: Six months ago.
The silence became unbearable.
Alessandro spoke first.
"Explain."
The chief surveillance technician swallowed.
"I... I can't."
He looked genuinely shaken.
"This camera lost power six months ago after a lightning strike."
He hurried to another monitor, pulling up maintenance records.
"We disconnected it."
"No repairs were ever completed."
He turned back toward Alessandro.
"It hasn't recorded a single second since February."
The room erupted.
"Then what did we just watch?"
"Was it edited?"
"A deepfake?"
The family lawyer adjusted his glasses.
"Someone could have inserted fabricated footage."
The technician shook his head so violently his headset slipped off.
"No."
"The metadata doesn't match an imported file."
"It came from our own server."
"That's impossible."
"I know."
Alessandro stared at the frozen image of the old man.
Not once did he blink.
"Run it again."
The technician obeyed.
The footage replayed.
Vanessa entered the hallway.
Marco emerged with the blue suitcase.
The old man accepted it.
Then...
Just before tapping the camera with his cane...
He stopped.
Frame by frame, the technician slowed the video.
The old man lifted his head.
Instead of looking into the lens...
He looked slightly to the left.
Toward something outside the camera's field of view.
His lips moved.
The room leaned closer.
"What did he say?"
No sound.
Only silent movement.
The technician enhanced the image.
Sharpened the lips.
A lip-reading specialist from the security team stepped forward.
He watched the clip three times.
Then once more.
His face slowly turned pale.
"What?"
Alessandro asked.
The specialist hesitated.
"I'm... ninety percent certain."
"Certain of what?"
"He said..."
The specialist looked around the room.
"...'She's finally here.'"
A chill rippled through everyone present.
"Who's 'she'?"
Nobody answered.
I felt Emma shift uneasily in my arms.
She wasn't looking at the screen.
She was staring at the doorway behind everyone.
"Mama."
I turned.
"What is it?"
"The piano man."
Every muscle in my body locked.
"Where?"
She pointed toward the empty doorway.
"He's smiling."
I looked.
Nothing.
Just an open corridor.
No beard.
No cane.
No old man.
Emma frowned.
"He left."
The technician glanced at me sympathetically.
Children.
Always seeing things.
But after tonight...
No one dared dismiss Emma completely.
Daniel Ross suddenly stood.
Ignoring the guards holding him.
"He's playing with us."
Alessandro looked at him.
"Who?"
"C-17."
Daniel's voice shook.
"He always lets people see exactly what he wants."
"What does that mean?"
Daniel laughed bitterly.
"You think you've discovered something."
"You think you're getting closer."
"But every clue..."
He looked at the screen.
"...is one he planted."
Marco Bellini finally spoke.
For the first time in nearly an hour.
"I want my lawyer."
Nobody reacted.
"I've served this family for fifteen years."
His voice remained controlled.
"If you're accusing me of murder..."
"I'm entitled to representation."
Alessandro didn't even look at him.
"I'm not accusing you."
Marco blinked.
"I'm dismissing you."
The distinction hit harder than any accusation.
"You no longer represent this family."
He turned to two guards.
"Escort Captain Bellini to the west guest house."
"Confiscate every electronic device."
"No visitors."
Marco didn't resist.
As he walked past Vanessa...
Their eyes met for less than a second.
It was enough.
I saw it.
Fear.
Not affection.
Not trust.
Fear.
Each was wondering whether the other would talk first.
Just then, another technician rushed into the room.
"Sir!"
"What now?"
"We recovered one more file."
Everyone turned.
"This one..."
The technician hesitated.
"...didn't come from the security system."
"Where did it come from?"
He looked confused.
"The nursery."
Alessandro frowned.
"There hasn't been a nursery in this house."
"There is now."
Vanessa's face lost all color.
The technician continued.
"A hidden baby monitor."
The room fell silent.
"A baby monitor?"
He nodded.
"It was installed inside the room being prepared for the future heir."
No one had known.
Not even Alessandro.
The monitor had been transmitting continuously.
Audio only.
No video.
The technician pressed play.
Static.
Rain.
A door opening.
Then...
Vanessa's voice.
Soft.
Calm.
"...it has to look convincing."
Another voice answered.
Male.
Distorted.
"You'll only have one chance."
Vanessa again.
"What if he asks for a doctor?"
"You won't reach that point."
A pause.
Then the male voice laughed quietly.
"By tomorrow..."
"...the empire won't belong to Alessandro anymore."
The recording ended abruptly.
Chaos exploded.
Guests shouted over one another.
Vanessa stumbled backward.
"That's fake!"
"No!"
"Someone edited it!"
She looked desperately toward Alessandro.
"You know I would never..."
He raised one hand.
The room instantly fell silent.
"Find the source."
The technician nodded.
"I'm already tracing it."
Seconds later, he looked back up.
His expression was filled with disbelief.
"I found it."
"Where?"
He swallowed.
"The signal..."
"...is still active."
The room went still.
"Still active?"
"Yes."
"It isn't an old recording."
"It was transmitted..."
He checked the screen again.
"...thirty-eight seconds ago."
A cold wave swept through the room.
Someone...
Inside the mansion...
Was listening to everything they said.
Right now.
Alessandro slowly scanned every face.
Guests.
Lawyers.
Servants.
Security.
Family.
Then he quietly gave the order that changed the entire night.
"Lock every door."
"No one leaves this house."
"Until we find the spy."
As the guards rushed out...
Every light inside the surveillance room suddenly went black.
The monitors died.
The emergency generators failed.
Darkness swallowed the mansion.
Then, somewhere deep in the house...
A little music box began to play a slow lullaby.
Emma clung tightly to me.
She whispered into the darkness.
"Mama..."
"The piano man says..."
Her tiny voice trembled.
May you like
"...he's coming upstairs."
End of Chapter Eight
