Chapter 5 - Whispers in Finger-spelling
The Vale mansion was a labyrinth of opulence and paranoia. Over the next twenty-four hours, I learned the geography of the gilded cage Caleb had inhabited for over a decade.
Every hallway had cameras, but Caleb had spent years cataloging their blind spots. As I walked beside him under the pretense of "assisting" him through his daily routine, he taught me the subtle cues. A tap of his foot meant we were entering a microphone pickup zone. A slight tilt of his head signaled an approaching guard.
To anyone watching the monitors, I was simply an attentive caretaker, guiding a vacant young man through his sterile existence. In reality, Caleb was running an underground reconnaissance operation right under his father's nose.
In the sunroom that afternoon, surrounded by exotic orchids and falling snow outside, Caleb sat at an easel, pretending to paint clumsy, childlike watercolors. I sat across from him with a book in my lap.
Beneath the wooden easel, shielded from the camera mounted above the French doors, his fingers were dancing.
*The safe is a dual-biometric model,* Caleb signed rapidly, his brush mindlessly smearing blue paint across the canvas. *It requires Dominic’s retinal scan and a six-digit rolling cipher generated by an RSA token he keeps on his key ring.*
*How do we get his retinal scan if he’s downstairs with the mob bosses?* I signed back, keeping my face placid as if I were reading my novel.
Caleb turned his brush, dipping it in red.
*Six months ago, Dominic had cataract surgery at Northwestern Memorial. Marcus managed to bribe a technician to clone the digital high-resolution retinal scan from the hospital’s imaging database. We have the scan on the flash drive you brought.*
I blinked in astonishment. The level of planning this man had executed while pretending to be mentally incapacitated was terrifyingly brilliant.
*What about the rolling cipher?* I asked.
*That’s where you come in,* Caleb signed. He paused, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the room feel suddenly devoid of oxygen. *During the dinner, Dominic will keep his keys in his jacket pocket. At 8:30 P.M., the kitchen staff will serve dessert. I need you to orchestrate an accident.*
*An accident?*
*Spill wine. Drop a tray. Anything that forces him to remove that jacket or leaves him distracted for twenty seconds. Marcus will be waiting disguised as a server to clone the token frequency using a near-field scanner.*
*And if Sal catches me?* I signed, my stomach twisting. *Sal watches me like a hawk.*
Caleb set his brush down. He leaned forward across the easel, his movement so sudden that it breached our professional facade. His hand reached out, catching mine where it rested on my knee. His grip was firm, electric, grounding.
He didn't sign. He looked directly at my lips, and then, in a voice that was rough, gravelly, and rusted from over a decade of complete disuse, he spoke.
The sound was barely above a breath—strained, deep, and raw:
“I... won’t... let him.”
The shock of hearing his voice shot through my entire body like a lightning strike. Tears instantly sprang to my eyes. It was the first time he had vocalized in fourteen years. He had risked everything—breaking his absolute silence in a room that might have hidden audio—just to reassure me.
I quickly pressed my fingers to his lips, my heart hammering against my ribs.
*Don’t,* I signed urgently, looking up at the camera. *Never do that again. It’s too dangerous.*
Caleb didn't look away. His eyes held a ferocious, desperate devotion that left me breathless. He leaned his face into my palm for a fraction of a second, feeling the warmth of my skin, before pulling back into his vacant, slouched posture.
The heavy oak door swung open with a violent click.
Sal stood in the doorway, chewing on a toothpick, his eyes darting between Caleb and me.
“What’s going on in here?” Sal growled, stepping into the room. “Boss wants to know why you’re taking so long. Dinner starts in three hours. He wants the dummy dressed in his tuxedo and prepped for the signing.”
I stood up smoothly, smoothing the fabric of my skirt, masking the tremor in my knees.
“We’re finished, Sal,” I said evenly. “Caleb was just finishing his painting.”
Sal scoffed, walking over to the easel. He sneered at the chaotic swirls of blue and red paint on the canvas.
“A real Picasso,” Sal spat, grabbing the canvas and ripping it off the wooden frame, crumpling it into a ball. “Come on. Boss doesn’t like waiting.”
As Sal turned his back, Caleb’s eyes met mine.
The warmth was gone. In its place was a lethal, calculating predator.
May you like
Tonight was the night.
***