Chapter 3 - The Camera in the Library
Adam didn't touch the camera.
That surprised me.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“Pretending we never saw it.”
He picked up an economics book.
“Start yelling at me.”
“What?”
“Make it convincing.”
I understood.
“You're impossible to teach.”
“Louder.”
“You're arrogant, impatient, and somehow twenty-four years old without knowing the difference between fiscal and monetary policy.”
Adam slammed his palm on the desk.
“Get out!”
I grabbed my cleaning bucket.
“Gladly.”
I walked into the hallway.
Ten minutes later, Adam found me in the laundry room.
“No cameras here,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“I checked.”
“You knew how?”
His face became unreadable.
“Growing up Rossi teaches useful things.”
He handed me his phone.
A photograph showed the camera's serial number.
“I traced the installer.”
“Who?”
“Security contractor called Vance Systems.”
“Your family's company?”
“No.”
“Mateo's?”
Adam shook his head.
“My father's.”
I stared at him.
“Charles put a camera in the library?”
“He has cameras everywhere.”
“Why?”
“Control.”
“Does he know about your dyslexia?”
Adam's jaw tightened.
“If that camera recorded us studying, yes.”
I suddenly understood.
“Then why hasn't he said anything?”
“That scares me more.”
That night, Adam accessed security logs through the estate network.
At 1:07 a.m., he called me downstairs.
“You need to see this.”
On his laptop was footage from the library.
Except two weeks were missing.
“Deleted?” I asked.
“Moved.”
“To where?”
He opened a hidden directory.
Hundreds of video files appeared.
Bedrooms.
Offices.
Meeting rooms.
Staff corridors.
My stomach turned.
“He's been recording everyone.”
Adam clicked another folder.
Financial documents appeared.
Transfers.
Shell companies.
Payoffs.
Then one name appeared repeatedly.
MRC Holdings.
Adam stared at it.
“Mateo Rossi Consulting.”
“Mateo stole the money.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“What do you mean, no?”
“These transfers were authorized using my father's credentials.”
Silence filled the laundry room.
“Charles knows?”
Adam leaned back.
“I think he created it.”
“Why steal from his own company?”
“Maybe he wasn't stealing.”
Adam opened another document.
The money was flowing somewhere else.
Judges.
Inspectors.
City contractors.
Private security.
Names I didn't recognize.
Then Adam found a document labeled:
SUCCESSION CONTINGENCY — A.R.
A.R.
Adam Rossi.
“Open it,” I said.
He didn't move.
“Adam.”
He clicked.
The document contained medical reports.
School records.
Teacher evaluations.
Notes from childhood.
One line had been highlighted.
Possible developmental reading disorder. Recommend evaluation.
Adam stared at it.
The date was fourteen years earlier.
“He knew,” I whispered.
Adam's face went completely still.
Charles had known since Adam was ten.
Another document appeared.
Evaluation declined by guardian.
Adam stood so fast the chair fell backward.
“He knew.”
“Adam—”
“He knew.”
His fist struck the metal locker.
“Fourteen years.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“He watched me fail.”
“Adam.”
“He called me stupid!”
I grabbed his wrist before he hit the locker again.
“Look at me.”
His breathing was rough.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“He could've helped me.”
“Yes.”
“He chose not to.”
“Yes.”
That answer hurt him more than any lie would have.
Then the laundry-room door opened.
Mateo stood there.
He looked at the laptop.
Then at Adam.
Then at me.
“Well,” Mateo said quietly.
“This is awkward.”
Adam stepped between us.
Mateo raised both hands.
“Relax.”
“You stole eleven million dollars.”
Mateo laughed.
“You really think I'm the one stealing?”
“Your company received it.”
“My company exists because Charles ordered it to exist.”
Adam's expression changed.
Mateo walked closer.
“You still don't understand your father.”
“Explain.”
“He wasn't testing whether you could pass economics.”
Mateo pointed toward the laptop.
“He was testing whether you'd find this.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
Mateo looked at Adam.
“Because Charles has been preparing to choose his successor.”
Adam stared at him.
Mateo smiled without humor.
“And whoever discovers how the empire actually works becomes either the next boss…”
He paused.
May you like
“…or the next problem Charles removes.”
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