Chapter 2 - Ghosts of the West Wing
Slowly, Maya set the heavy silver tray onto a narrow side table. She pressed her palm against the dark wooden paneling of the hallway wall.
The wood felt ice cold.
Noah Hawthorne had supposedly been away for almost two weeks.
According to Celeste, the nine-year-old had been admitted to an exclusive residential treatment facility in Vermont after struggling with severe anxiety following his mother's death.
Jonathan Hawthorne, Noah’s father, had repeated the official explanation without hesitation to the staff.
The household staff had been strictly instructed not to discuss Noah with guests, reporters, or anyone outside the estate.
Maya had wanted to ask questions. She had wanted to press Jonathan for details.
She hadn't dared.
Working for wealthy families in Greenwich for fifteen years had taught her one brutal rule.
Silence was rewarded. Curiosity was fired.
Even so, something about Noah's sudden disappearance had never felt right to Maya.
His favorite blue rain jacket still hung beside the mudroom door.
The little hand-crank radio he’d been fixing sat untouched on his bedroom desk, every tiny screw arranged neatly on a white cloth.
Even his worn stuffed fox remained tucked neatly beneath his pillow.
Noah never went anywhere without that fox.
Another knock echoed through the wood paneling.
This one sounded much weaker, staggering off-beat.
Maya followed the faint sound down the corridor.
The old heating pipes disappeared behind the walnut paneling, leading directly toward the west wing—a section of the mansion officially closed for extensive structural renovations.
A thick velvet rope stretched across the arched doorway.
May you like
Beside it stood a polished brass plaque: PRIVATE RENOVATION AREA - DO NOT ENTER.
Without hesitating, Maya stepped over the rope.
