The Nanny's Secret

by Kiersten Modglin

  No one will trust the man who let eleven people die because he was too busy attempting to catch his wife’s lover. I grind my teeth together in anger, furious that I let this happen. My father worked so hard to build the reputation we have, and I’ve tarnished it in such a short amount of time. The thought of the police coming here, asking more questions, digging further, has me shaking with fear, though I try to look strong in front of Iris, who seems cold and empty. I’m still as stone, my muscles tense and locked, as I stare across the room and focus on my breathing. What can we do? What can we do? I need to fix this, but it's unfixable. The building I’m standing in, the life I’ve built, could collapse at any moment. I wait. My stomach rumbles with the threat of emptying. I have to hold it together. But how? A war rages in me, so many questions, so many worries. I’ve never felt this way before. Never felt so out of control. I’ve prided myself on control my whole life, but now, I have none.

  If the police come back, they will ask why we have clients who have locked files, why there is no one but myself who can unlock said files. If they dig even a little bit, they will learn about all we cover up. Then our clients will be under siege. They will be answering for their crimes, the crimes we are paid handsomely to make disappear.

  I press my forehead into my palms. Think. Think. Think. Fix this, dammit. I’m furious with myself, picturing my father’s disappointment from beyond the grave. How could I have been so stupid? I try so hard to keep emotion out of all I do, like my father taught me, and now, emotion will cause my downfall. One stupid moment of jealousy, and my empire will crumble.

  The office is quiet with the day shift gone home. Only Iris and I remain, with our monitoring staff downstairs.

  No one knows what’s coming. No one but us.

  The phone on my desk rings, without Tom there to intercept it. I look at Iris, whose eyes are suddenly wide with fear. I swallow, my heart thudding so loudly in my chest I can’t think straight. Breathe, Orrick. Just breathe. My palms are cold and clammy as I reach for the phone, fighting to steady my breath. Is this it? The call to end everything?

  I lift the receiver. “Orrick Locke.” This could be the last time that name means anything.

  “Locke.” My name is a sentence with him. Always.

  “Phil, I’m so glad you’re alright.” I sigh, watching Iris perk up in her chair. I hit the button that will allow her to hear the conversation. “I hadn’t heard—”

  “What the hell happened here, Locke? Did you know?”

  “Minutes before it happened, sir. As soon as we were alerted, we dispatched our team, but we were too late. I’m so—so incredibly sorry.” I swallow, adjusting my tie.

  “Sorry isn’t going to fix this, Locke. What are you doing to fix it? The police are going to be searching for answers as to why this happened, and you and I both know what they’ll find.” Illegal fracking. Falsified documents. Countless deaths so Phil Vance could line his already-thick pockets. I expected him to be mad over the people he lost, but it’s obvious I’ve been focusing on the wrong thing. There’s still work to do.

  “I—” I swallow, my throat tight. “I’m working with my team now to see what we can do.” There’s nothing, though. Nothing at all. It’s done.

  “I want this investigation over with. We can beef up our security package, work with you to keep us safe, but I do not, I repeat do not, Locke, want the police looking into our business. We’re paying you to fix it, so fix it, dammit. Am I making myself clear?” I can practically picture his sausage-like fingers as he smacks them against his solid-wood desk.

  “Crystal, Phil. We’re taking care of it.” My heart thuds in my chest.

  “You’d better be. If not, I’ll find someone else who can.” He huffs, and the line goes dead.

  When I look up at Iris, despair in my eyes, I’m surprised to see hope in hers. I cock my head to the side. What did she hear that I didn’t?

  Her expression grows brighter, her eyes glimmering with possibilities.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask.

  “We can still fix this,” she announces, standing from her chair and looking around the room in awe, like she’s on Broadway rather than in a nearly-empty room with me as her only audience.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “We need the police to stop looking at Vance, to not look much further into us, so…we need a fall guy.”

  “What?” I curl my lip in disgust.

  “Someone we can pin this on. Someone the police will have to dig into, to draw their attention from us, from Vance, to them.”

  “What are you talking about, Bruce Willis? This isn’t an action movie, or have you forgotten?”

  She sits back down, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Orrick, it has to be Tom.”

  The weight of what she’s suggesting hits me square in the chest. I stare at her. Why would she want to frame the man she’s cheating on me with?

  “Think about it,” she goes on, “of anyone here, he has the most troublesome past. We can find someone to be a character witness, someone to say that he never got off the drugs, to point the police to his criminal record—”

  “Even if we did that, why would Tom want to bomb Vance Corporation? He has nothing to do with them.”

  “So, we change that. Pay someone in IT to fabricate a few emails between him and one of the employees who was killed today, someone who can’t testify they never happened. The emails should say something that could easily go under our radar but could implicate him if we looked closer.”

  “And he’ll deny it. That’s not going to work, Iris. Even if it did, when they find the bomber, he’ll be able to say Tom wasn’t involved. If they can’t connect them, why would it matter?”

  “Tom was the bomber, don’t you see? We give him a motive. Maybe he has a previous issue with someone at Vance Corp, maybe he got a large deposit in his checking account from a random, offshore account directly after the bombing?” She’s thinking on her feet as she talks, and I have to admit it’s impressive, even if it’s awful. “If we give them what they’re looking for, they have no reason to keep looking.” She smiles, but it's conflicted, and I wonder what she’s thinking.

  “But what if they catch the real bomber? You know Tom will hire a lawyer to fight this. They’ll still have to do an investigation. If they can prove we did any of this, we’ll be looking at major legal trouble ourselves.”

  “We’re looking at legal trouble if we don’t fix this, Orrick. You and I both know we’d be as guilty as Vance if the police found everything we’ve covered up over the years. If they find this, they’ll look for more, and it won’t take much digging to find it. We can take care of Tom, if necessary, and as for the bomber, why would they keep looking when they have their answers? It’s not like the bomber’s going to come forward, right?”

  “So, we are going to frame him? Emails are great, but Tom isn’t exactly a rocket scientist. How would he have gotten a bomb?”

  She chews the inside of her lip, thinking. “Well…our security staff has found troubling Google searches from his work computer that I’m sure we could turn over to the police and he does work for a top security company. He had access to things, sites, that normal people might not have.”

  “You aren’t seriously suggesting we make all this up—”

  “Orrick, if we had any other choice, you know I would take it. We aren’t just talking about losing one of our largest clients here, we’re talking about the total collapse of all we’ve built. If this gets out, if it’s made public how large our failure was here, we lose everything. Our business, our reputations, our family…do you really think we’ll walk away from this unscathed? If the police find out what we’ve been covering up, we could lose John. We could go to prison.”

  “We’ve been careful—”

  “Careful enough? Are you sure? Are you willing to bet our son on it? Our lives? With just a few simple steps, we can solve both our problems and Vance’s. We can do what we are hired t
o do. And, just think, if we do this, if we pull it off…think of what else we can do. Think of what clients we can land with something like this under our belt.”

  “So you’re saying we should include it in our next ad campaign, then?”

  She doesn’t look amused. “Orrick, this is serious.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” I pound my fists on the desk in outrage.

  She stands, grasping my hands with hers. “If you do, if you really know what we’re up against, what our other options are, you know this is the only way.”

  “But Tom—” Is like a son to me. Has been taught all I know. Means the world to me. Is sleeping with my wife.

  “Tom is a sweet kid,” she says. “He is. You know how much I’ve grown to care for him, but his past makes him an excellent target. He was close enough to you for you to have let things slip. Close enough to have…rerouted your calls this afternoon? Deleted the bomb threat emails you received? Close enough to have gained sensitive access to Vance Corp, security codes, perhaps? The times when their security guards change shifts?” Her brows raise. We both know she’s reaching, but we also know she’s right. She’s always right. We have to do what we’ve never done to save ourselves. To save our client.

  “You realize if we do this, there’s no going back.” I press my lips together firmly, rubbing my fingers across my temple.

  “There’s no going back regardless, Orrick. The company will already be under scrutiny—we’ll be under scrutiny—because we’re supposed to provide security for Vance Corp. So, right now, at best, it looks like we can’t do our jobs. That’s not exactly good PR for a company whose sole job is to protect their clients. We pride ourselves on our success, Orrick. You’ve worked so hard for this. So now, we just have to decide whether we go down, whether Locke Industries as a whole goes down, or whether Tom does.”

  I hang my head. “What do we need to do?”

  “We need to find someone from his past, someone who can say he’s still into the drugs that got him in trouble before. If we can find, or fabricate, even the slightest connection between them, that would help. We also need to make sure we delete any security tapes of the building today. We can make it look like he did it. There can’t be any proof he was here when the bomb was placed.”

  “How are we going to find someone? And what if they won’t do it?” I ask, but I already know the answer. Everyone can be bought. The right amount of money can make anyone do anything. She raises a brow, and I see the answer in her expression.

  “The emails and Google searches have to be fabricated by someone we trust completely,” she taps a finger against her lips, “so I think we need to talk to AJ. We need them within the hour. We can discover them and turn them into the police tonight when we tell them our IT department also noticed he rerouted your calls until it was too late and that he deleted the threatening emails Vance forwarded you. If he was the one who sent them, it makes sense he knew to be on the lookout.”

  “He didn’t have access to my email, Iris.”

  “Yes, he did.” She nods slowly, letting the full extent of the conspiracy sink in. “You put full trust in Tom. You gave him access to everything.”

  “He’s never going to forgive us,” I whisper. I can’t think straight with all the conflicting emotions running rampant through my mind.

  “He’s not going to have to,” Iris says.

  I jerk my head up. “Meaning what?”

  Her expression darkens with a hint of anguish. “Orrick, to make this work, Tom can’t be around to argue his case.”

  My stomach clenches tight, all other emotions disappearing. We are a lot of other things, but we aren’t killers. “Iris, we can’t…”

  “We have to.” She nods, no room for negotiation in her tone. Sometimes, she scares me. “There is no other choice.”

  I don’t nod. I don’t agree, but I don’t have to. She already has her phone out, calling God knows who. It’s done. Decision made and plan in motion. Our life of willful ignorance disappears in the blink of an eye. From here on out, our biggest crime coverup will be our own.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Iris

  PRESENT DAY

  “Olivia, may I speak with you?” She jumps at my voice, and I hide the pleasure it brings me. It’s the first I’ve spoken to her, other than a few words, in weeks, and it’s a Wednesday, a day I should be at work were it not for planning the company party. All signs point to an uneasy nanny.

  She turns from the table, where she’s making John finish his eggs, and faces me. “Of course. Is everything okay?”

  “Just, in here.” I wave my arms backward toward the kitchen. I don’t want to do this in front of John.

  She looks nervous—understandably—but stands and follows me. We have the room to ourselves, though it’s still open to the rest of the house, and I know anyone could walk in. I’ll talk fast. If Orrick catches me grilling her, it’s an argument I’m not interested in having. Still, if someone is taking care of my son and screwing my husband, I’d like to know a bit more about her than her credit score and work history.

  “How is everything going?” I ask, my smile fake, but beautiful, I’m sure.

  She keeps a safe distance from me, hesitant to answer. “Um, everything’s fine, Mrs. Locke. Why do you ask?”

  “I just feel like I haven’t had the chance to check in with you in a while. I wanted to be sure everything’s still going well with John.”

  She seems to relax a bit, which is a mistake. “John’s a really special boy,” she tells me, like I don’t know. “I’m loving working with him.” I’ll bet you are.

  “Excellent. He really seems to enjoy having you here.” As does Orrick.

  “I’m happy to hear that.” Her smile is forced, and I wonder if she’s panicking internally. She does a good job of hiding it. A good job of a lot of things if Orrick’s recently pleasant mood is any indication.

  “Is there…should I be doing something else, Mrs. Locke?” Her hands are clasped together in front of her, as if to make her seem meek, though her eyes look anything but.

  “Actually, I wanted to ask you about something.”

  She swallows and I pause, letting her sweat it out.

  After a moment, I take a breath. “Is there a reason you aren’t on social media?”

  A flicker of apprehension courses through her expression. “I, well, I…I deleted all of my accounts after my fiancé passed away. It just all got to be too much.” She chews her bottom lip worriedly. “Were you looking me up?”

  It’s an obvious, dumb question that I don’t like. “I was. I like to have my staff on our social media, just as a showing of unity, but…I couldn’t find you. It’s odd, isn’t it? For someone your age not to be present online at all.” There’s implication in my words, and I watch them register across her face.

  She remains steady as she answers, but I’ll bet she’s teetering on the edge of a meltdown. “Odd, maybe, but it’s been the greatest break of my life. I’m sure you understand the pressures that come with being online. Do I—I mean, do you want me to reactivate them? I can, if you’d like.”

  I shake my head. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.” She twists her lips, and I wonder if my husband’s used a similar line with her in a different context. From the scarlet across her cheeks, I’d say so. “I just wanted to ask.” She takes a step back, as if she’s being released…but not so fast, little fishy. “I’m not sure if you’ve been told, but we found a recording device in Orrick’s office.”

  Her eyes widen, and I swear it looks like she’s choking on the shock. “W-what?”

  “Orrick believes it was placed there by a member of our staff.” I study her expression, which has gone from pink to ashen in a matter of seconds. She looks ready to bolt. “Cathrine, perhaps,” I add at last, watching her shoulders lose some of their tension, though not all.

  “His cousin?”

  I nod. “We don’t have proof, b
ut we’re looking into it, and we will find out. I just wanted to warn you, you know, in case she comes by again. Security has been advised to keep us posted, but I thought you should know as well. Sabotage from our staff would…not be tolerated, of course. We are very powerful people.” I smile encouragingly. “I’m sure you know that.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Locke,” she says, taking another half-step back.

  I nod, waving my hand. “That will be all.” I’ve gotten what I need from her. The shock on her face, fear in her eyes. I know she planted that bug, what I don’t know is why.

  “The roses are looking lovely, Amos,” I tell the gardener, walking past him toward the yard.

  He grunts in my direction, his flask laying beside him in the dirt. Alcoholic though he may be, I’m convinced he’s our most loyal employee. I walk past him without worry. He’s not paying a bit of attention to me, his mind completely consumed with his work.

  I stop a few feet from his cottage, close enough I can still keep an eye on our house to be warned of anyone coming my way, but far enough I can get privacy for my next step. I pull out my phone, searching through my contacts for the name of the agency who sent us Olivia.

  I dial the number, pressing the speaker to my ear.

  “Gilford Grove Nannies, how may I direct your call?”

  “Um, yes, I was wondering if there was someone in the office I could speak to about a nanny who we employed through your agency.”

  “Of course. May I ask who’s calling?” the pleasant voice asks.

  “This is Iris Locke.”

  “One moment, Mrs. Locke.” There is a faint click on the line and classical music suddenly fills my ear. I fold one arm around myself, watching Amos work away. There’s a nice breeze today, the perfect amount of cool, crisp air on such a sunny day. Through the windows, I see Olivia and John climbing up the staircase, headed for his bedroom. Soon, she’ll be with Orrick, as I’m sure they both assume I’ve left the house. I press the phone to my ear harder, drowning out the noise of my thoughts.