Three weeks earlier, Adriana had arrived in the Donnelly residence before dawn. She needed the job desperately. Her aunt’s medical bills back in Phoenix were suffocating, and work in New York was hard to come by. Still something in her chest twisted as she stepped into the gleaming marble lobby. Like a warning. She ignored it and rode the elevator to the thirty-first floor.
Mrs. Nakano, the head housekeeper, briefed her briskly. The family valued privacy, she said. No questions. No involvement in household affairs. Milo, the young child, was extremely ill. Adriana nodded. She could follow rules. But nothing prepared her for the sight behind Milo’s bedroom door. The room was immaculate yet lifeless. The air was freezing. Milo lay curled in his crib. His skin held a grayish tinge that frightened her instantly. Something felt wrong in a way no medical explanation could satisfy.