The nursery was dead quiet except for the distant howl of ambulance sirens coming up the driveway.
Victoria: Put the phone away, Marcus. You're exhausted from the boardroom meetings.
Marcus: I am wide awake.
He turned the phone toward her, the multi-camera grid playback glowing between them.
Marcus: Look at the time stamp. Exactly seventeen minutes ago.
Victoria swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as her eyes locked on the display.
Victoria: Marcus, that’s just a glitch in the cloud system. You know the mansion Wi-Fi cuts out.
Marcus: This is a closed-circuit fiber feed. Hardwired directly into the basement server.
On the screen, a figure in a beige blouse crept into the quiet nursery on tiptoes.
Marcus: Who is that, Victoria?
Victoria: I was just checking on her blankets! She kicks them off constantly!
Marcus: Then why did you pull the satin sash from your handbag?
On the high-definition video, Victoria’s recorded reflection leaned over the white wooden bars.
She tied the ribbon around the inner corner of the mattress, looping it close to the infant's face.
Victoria: It was a decorative mobile! I was hanging a toy for her!
Marcus: You knotted it around the railing so tight Elena had to tear it free.
The footage jumped as Victoria in the video turned off the baby monitor and pulled the bedroom door shut.
The screen showed her sliding the antique brass latch into place on the outside frame.
Marcus: You locked my seven-month-old daughter in a soundproof room.
Victoria: No, wait! The latch was loose! The draft must have caught it!
Marcus: The draft doesn't lift a brass deadbolt, Victoria.
Victoria’s face lost every trace of color, turning a sickly, ghostly gray.
Victoria: Marcus, please... you're misinterpreting everything!
Marcus: Misinterpreting? You wanted an accident. You wanted her out of the way.
Victoria: How can you say something so monstrous about me?
Marcus: Because my attorney brought me the updated trust fund documents this morning.
Victoria stiffened, her manicured fingers digging into her designer pants.
Victoria: What does money have to do with this tragedy?
Marcus: Maya is the sole beneficiary of my late wife’s sixty-million-dollar estate.
Victoria: I don't care about the money! I love you!
Marcus: If Maya survives to eighteen, the entire trust remains locked. If something happens to her...
Marcus leaned in, his voice dropping into a deadly, chilling whisper.
Marcus: It transfers directly to my surviving spouse.
Victoria took a quick step back toward the open doorway, her eyes flashing with wild panic.
Victoria: You’re insane! You’ve let your grief turn you into a paranoid monster!
Marcus: And you let your greed turn you into a murderer.
Two uniformed paramedics rushed into the nursery, accompanied by Elena.
Paramedic: Sir, we need to examine the infant right away.
Marcus gently handed Maya over to the female paramedic, his gaze never leaving Victoria.
Marcus: Check her lungs. The ribbon blocked her breathing for at least two minutes.
Elena: I gave her back-blows and CPR until she coughed up the fabric thread.
Paramedic: You did an incredible job, ma'am. You saved this baby's life.
Victoria spun on her heel, aiming straight for the hallway stairs.
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