Chapter 5 - The Ashes of Morrison Manor
The heavy oak doors of the nursery were wide open when we returned to the main house.
I didn't call a locksmith. I didn't wait for the estate maintenance crew. Armed with a heavy steel crowbar I had pulled from the garage tool chest, I marched up the grand staircase with a singular, destructive purpose.
Jordan and Annie walked a few steps behind me, the boy holding tightly to her hand while Justin rode comfortably on her hip, sucking his thumb with eyes half-closed in exhaustion.
— Mr. Morrison, are you sure about this? Annie asked hesitantly as we reached the upper landing.
— Never been more sure of anything in my life, I grunted, wedging the flat tip of the crowbar into the recessed seam of the electronic smart-lock housing mounted on Justin’s door.
Crack!
The expensive brushed-aluminum casing splintered under the pressure, exposing a tangled mess of copper wiring and microchips. With a sharp wrench of my arm, I ripped the entire mechanism out of the doorframe and hurled it down the stairwell, where it shattered against the marble floor far below.
— Daddy break it? Justin asked from Annie’s hip, his big brown eyes wide with sleepy wonder.
— Daddy broke it for good, buddy, I replied, turning around with a breathless, genuine smile that felt foreign on my face. — Nobody is ever locking this door again. Ever.
We repeated the process on Jordan’s room, ripping out the deadbolt mechanisms, the infrared sensors, and the intercom speakers until the walls were bare. I gathered every single piece of high-tech surveillance equipment into a massive contractor trash bag and dragged it out to the oversized steel dumpster by the service gates.
By nine o'clock, the children’s wing of the mansion looked radically different.
The sterile, institutional coldness that had dominated the space for over a year was gone. The doors stood wide open, welcoming the warm light from the hallway.
Annie tucked the boys into their respective beds, reading them a story about a clumsy bear who lost his honey pot—a tale she improvised on the spot with warm, expressive voices that had both twins giggling softly beneath their covers.
I stood quietly in the doorway, watching the way Justin’s hand relaxed against the mattress, and how Jordan’s breathing slowed into a peaceful, rhythmic cadence.
Ten minutes later, the room was completely silent.
Annie stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door half-closed behind her. She looked exhausted, her shoulders slumped slightly under the weight of an endlessly long day.
— They're finally asleep, she whispered, wiping a stray strand of dark hair from her forehead.
— Thank you, Annie, I said, stepping closer to her in the dimly lit corridor. — Not just for tonight. But for opening my eyes before it was too late.
She looked down at her sensible black work shoes, a faint blush dusting her cheeks.
— I only did what any mother would do, Mr. Morrison.
— You did what I should have been doing since the day Lauren died, I corrected her softly.
We walked downstairs together in comfortable silence, the oppressive tension that had hung over the estate for months finally dissipating into the autumn air.
As we reached the bottom of the grand staircase, Annie paused near the kitchen entrance, untying her gray uniform apron and folding it neatly over her arm.
— Well, sir, my shift ended two hours ago, she said with a faint, tired smile. — I'll see you tomorrow morning at seven. I need to prep the oatmeal before the boys wake up.
I stopped in my tracks.
— Tomorrow morning, Annie, you are not coming in as a housekeeper.
Her smile faltered, replaced by a sudden flash of uncertainty.
— Sir? Am... am I fired?
— Absolutely not, I said, stepping forward until I stood just an arm's length away from her. — Effective immediately, I am promoting you to Director of Family Operations and Chief Domestic Advisor for the Morrison estate. Your salary will be tripled, your housing allowance covered, and your primary job description will no longer be scrubbing floors.
She stared at me as if I had spoken in ancient Greek.
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— Mr. Morrison, I... I don't know the first thing about corporate titles or managing a grand estate! I'm just a working woman from Yonkers!
— You know how to make my sons feel safe, I said quietly, looking directly into her eyes. — And in this house, that is the only qualification that has ever mattered.
