The doctor paused, glancing toward the emergency room before looking directly at me.

I felt my stomach twist.

“What is it? Just tell me. Is my son going to be okay?”

“Your son is stable for now. But we discovered something unusual during his examination. His breathing difficulties weren’t caused by the bath itself.”

I frowned.

“What do you mean?”

She opened the medical chart in her hands.

“Your son has been exposed to a substance that appears to have triggered a severe respiratory reaction. We found evidence of irritation in his airways, along with symptoms suggesting this may not be the first episode.”

My mouth went dry.

“Are you saying someone poisoned my child?”

“I’m saying we need to investigate what he’s been exposed to. Household cleaning products, fragrances, detergents, medications… anything he might have come into contact with.”

Then she asked a question that made my blood run cold.

“Mr. Whitaker, has your son been experiencing unexplained coughing, skin irritation, or difficulty breathing after his baths?”

I stared at her.

Because suddenly, I remembered.

For almost three weeks, Zion had been waking up crying in the middle of the night.

His cheeks sometimes became red after his evening bath. He would rub his tiny hands against his face, cough occasionally, and struggle to settle down.

I had asked Margaret about it.

She always gave me the same answer.

“Babies have sensitive skin, Mr. Whitaker. It’s perfectly normal.”

I had believed her.

“Yes,” I whispered. “He’s been coughing. Sometimes he cries uncontrollably after his bath.”

The doctor’s expression became serious.

“Then we need to know exactly what products have been used on him.”

I immediately called my estate manager.

“Get me the names of every soap, shampoo, detergent, and cleaning product used in this house. I want everything brought to the hospital.”

“Of course, sir.”

“And find Margaret. I want her here immediately.”

I ended the call.

But my mind had already returned to Emily.

Her trembling hands.

The way she had looked at Zion.

And those words.

There was something else I wanted to tell you about him.

I closed my eyes.

What had she noticed?

What had she discovered?

And why had she looked so frightened?

Twenty minutes later, the doctor returned.

“Mr. Whitaker, there’s another thing.”

I stood immediately.

“What now?”

“Your son’s skin was showing signs of repeated irritation. We also found that his breathing had likely been affected by something in his environment before today’s incident.”

She lowered her voice.

“Whoever noticed his discomfort may have been trying to tell you something important.”

My heart sank.

I took out my phone and called the estate manager again.

“Where is Margaret?”

“Sir, she’s not answering.”

“Then find her.”

“And Emily?”

There was a brief silence.

“Emily left the property, sir. But I believe I have her emergency contact information.”

“Get it. Now.”

I had never begged anyone for anything in my life.

That evening, I was desperate to find a housemaid.

When I returned to the mansion, I went straight to Zion’s bathroom.

Everything looked perfectly ordinary.

His little bathtub.

His towels.

His collection of baby products.

Then I noticed something strange.

There were two bottles of baby wash on the shelf.

One was the familiar brand I had purchased myself.

The other was an expensive imported product with a handwritten label.

I picked it up.

The bottle had no visible ingredients list.

Just a small sticker with a handwritten date.

Three weeks earlier.

I turned it over.

There was a faint chemical smell.

I immediately placed it inside a plastic bag and called my security chief.

“Take this to the hospital. I want it examined.”

Then I opened the cabinet beneath the sink.

Inside were several cleaning products.

One bottle had been moved to the back, almost hidden behind a stack of towels.

I pulled it out.

The label was partially peeled away.

But what caught my attention was the handwritten note taped to its side.

DO NOT USE NEAR THE BABY.

I froze.

Who had written that?

And why had someone hidden it?

Before I could examine it further, my phone rang.

It was Margaret.

I answered immediately.

“Where are you?”

“Mr. Whitaker? Is everything okay?”

“Don’t play games with me. My son is in the hospital. I need you to tell me exactly what you’ve been using on him.”

There was silence.

Then she sighed.

“Sir, I don’t understand. I have always followed the instructions.”

“Then explain the second bottle in his bathroom.”

Another silence.

“What second bottle?”

“The imported baby wash.”

Her voice suddenly changed.

“Sir, please don’t touch that bottle.”

My grip тιԍнтened around the phone.

“Why?”

“I… I can explain everything when I get there.”

“You’re going to explain it now.”

But she disconnected.

I stared at the phone.

For the first time since hiring Margaret, I felt something I couldn’t control.

Suspicion.

At 9:40 that evening, my estate manager finally reached Emily.

She was staying at a small apartment across town with her seven-year-old daughter.

I drove there myself.

When she opened the door, she looked startled.

“Mr. Whitaker?”

Her daughter stood behind her, holding a stuffed rabbit.

Emily instinctively moved in front of the little girl.

“Please, sir. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

I looked at her.

For the first time, I noticed how exhausted she appeared.

Her uniform was gone. Her eyes were swollen, and she seemed to have been crying.

“I came to apologize.”

She said nothing.

“I was wrong to fire you before hearing what you had to say.”

Her expression didn’t change.

“My son is in the hospital, Emily. The doctors believe something in his environment may have been affecting his breathing for weeks.”

Her hand immediately covered her mouth.

“Oh, no…”

“You knew something was wrong, didn’t you?”

She looked down.

Then she nodded.

“I tried to tell you, sir.”

My chest тιԍнтened.

“What did you discover?”

Emily glanced at her daughter.

“Can we talk somewhere private?”

I nodded.

Her little girl went into the bedroom, and Emily closed the door.

Then she turned toward me.

“Three weeks ago, I noticed Zion crying every time Margaret prepared his bath. At first, I thought it was because the water was too H๏τ. But I checked it myself. The temperature was fine.”

She swallowed.

“Then I noticed the smell.”

“What smell?”

“Something sharp. Almost like a cleaning chemical. It was coming from the bottle Margaret used on him.”

I felt my stomach turn.

“Did you confront her?”

“Yes. She told me it was a special imported product recommended by a private consultant. But when I asked to see the ingredients, she became angry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Emily looked directly into my eyes.

“I tried. Twice.”

I remembered those moments.

Once, she had approached me in the hallway while I was taking a business call.

Another time, she had left a note on my desk.

I had barely glanced at it before telling my ᴀssistant to handle household matters.

I had been too busy.

Too important.

Too convinced that the people I paid would never allow anything bad to happen under my roof.

Emily continued.

“Then yesterday, I saw Margaret pour something from a small bottle into Zion’s bathwater. I didn’t know what it was, but I recognized the smell. I told her she shouldn’t use it.”

My fists clenched.

“What did she say?”

“She told me I would lose my job if I interfered again.”

I stared at her.

“Why did you bathe him in the kitchen sink today?”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Because I found him crying again. His skin was red, and he kept rubbing his eyes. Margaret had prepared his bath, but I noticed that same smell.”

She paused.

“So I emptied the tub, rinsed it, and used clean warm water in the kitchen sink. I wanted to see whether he would finally feel comfortable.”

I couldn’t speak.

She looked toward the bedroom where her daughter was sleeping.

“Sir, I wasn’t trying to take anyone’s place. I just couldn’t watch that little boy suffer.”

Then she reached into her handbag.

“I kept something because I was afraid nobody would believe me.”

She pulled out a folded piece of paper.

It was a pH๏τograph.

A small bottle sitting beside Zion’s bathtub.

And next to it was a second pH๏τograph showing Margaret holding the bottle while speaking to someone on her phone.

My breathing became shallow.

“Where did you get these?”

“I took them yesterday. I wanted to show you, but you never gave me the chance.”

I looked at the pH๏τographs again.

Then I noticed something in the background.

A reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Someone else was standing behind Margaret.

I zoomed in.

It was a man.

I recognized him immediately.

My younger brother, Adrian.

The same man who had visited the mansion several times over the past month.

The same man who had recently been appointed director of our family foundation.

And the same man who had been pressuring me to sign over part of my controlling interest in Whitaker Holdings.

I looked up at Emily.

“Did you see this man?”

She nodded slowly.

“Yes, sir. He came to the house several times. I heard Margaret arguing with him once. She said she didn’t want to continue doing what he asked.”

My blood ran cold.

“What exactly did she say?”

Emily hesitated.

Then she repeated the words she had heard.

“She said, ‘I didn’t agree to hurt the baby. You told me it was harmless.'”

For several seconds, the room seemed to disappear around me.

My brother.

My son’s nanny.

A mysterious chemical.

Weeks of unexplained symptoms.

And a baby who had nearly stopped breathing.

I immediately called my security chief.

“Lock down the mansion. Nobody enters or leaves without being identified. Secure every camera recording from the last thirty days.”

“Understood, sir.”

“And find Adrian. I want to know where he is.”

I ended the call.

Then Emily spoke again.

“Mr. Whitaker, there’s one more thing.”

I turned toward her.

“What?”

She looked terrified.

“Margaret told me something yesterday. She said that after tonight, everything would finally be over.”

My heart seemed to stop.

“Over?”

Emily nodded.

“She said your son wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

At that moment, my phone vibrated.

A message had arrived from the hospital.

It was the doctor.

Mr. Whitaker, we have received the preliminary laboratory findings from the sample you sent. Please come back immediately. There is something concerning about the substance, and we need to discuss it with you in person.

I looked at Emily.

Then at the pH๏τographs.

I had spent years protecting my business from enemies.

But the greatest threat had been sitting inside my own home.

And the person I had thrown out for trying to protect my son might be the only person who could help me uncover the truth.

I called my driver.

“Take us to the hospital.”

Then I looked at Emily.

“You’re coming with me.”

She nodded.

But before we left, her daughter appeared at the bedroom doorway, clutching her stuffed rabbit.

“Mommy?”

Emily turned.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The little girl looked at me with frightened eyes.

Then she whispered something that made Emily go completely pale.

“Mommy, is that the man who came to our house and told you not to tell anyone what happened to the baby?”

I slowly turned toward the child.

Because suddenly, I realized Emily might not have been the only person who had witnessed what happened in my mansion.

And my brother might have made one terrible mistake.

He had underestimated a seven-year-old girl.

TO BE CONTINUED…