Chapter 3 - FOURTEEN WOMEN
The first former nanny agreed to speak at nine the next morning.
Not to Matteo.
To outside counsel.
That distinction mattered.
Her name was Anna Sloane.
She had lasted nineteen days.
The second, Janice Bell, lasted six weeks.
The third refused completely.
The fourth asked whether Duca Family Office still had access to her current employer.
Outside counsel said no.
She still declined.
Good.
People were allowed to distrust processes designed by the same wealth that once employed them.
By noon, five women had agreed to interviews.
By evening, eight.
I learned none of this because I was in the investigation.
I learned only what Matteo’s counsel later summarized with staff permission because my second shift started at six and Leah had apparently decided I was now responsible for examining every toy train in Manhattan.
“Red.”
She held one up.
“Correct.”
“Green.”
“Yes.”
“Blue.”
Her face changed.
Tiny.
Then she put the blue train down.
No tantrum.
No adult rushed in.
Good.
I did not make her touch it.
She picked yellow instead.
Matteo sat at the dining table with a laptop and legal pad.
He had been there twenty minutes.
Not pretending to work.
Actually working.
But every time Leah raised her voice, his eyes lifted.
Hypervigilance.
Not useful.
I pointed at him.
“Stop.”
He looked offended.
“What?”
“Watching.”
“I’m sitting in my own home.”
“You’re monitoring.”
“I am not.”
Leah shouted:
“Yellow tunnel!”
Matteo turned instantly.
I raised eyebrows.
He looked back at screen.
“Fine.”
Good.
The new child psychologist arrived at seven.
Dr. Naomi Chen.
Licensed.
Independent.
Not connected to Duca companies.
She did not walk into the room holding a clipboard.
She sat near toy rug and talked to me first.
Not privately.
Within Leah’s hearing.
“What are you building?”
“A train system with no zoning oversight.”
Leah looked at me.
“Tunnel.”
“Yes. Very controversial tunnel.”
Dr. Chen smiled.
“Can I sit over there?”
Leah looked.
Then nodded.
Good.
No forced rapport.
For twenty minutes, Dr. Chen did almost nothing.
She watched.
That was apparently the job.
Leah threw one block when a tower fell.
I said:
“Blocks stay low if we’re throwing.”
She glared.
No blue room.
No escort.
I moved hard blocks three feet away and offered soft foam pieces.
She took one.
Problem ended.
Dr. Chen said nothing.
Good.
After Leah went with Rosa for bath, Dr. Chen met Matteo in the library.
I was not invited.
Correct.
I made tea in staff kitchen.
Rachel was there.
Her scratches had thin medical strips.
She looked better.
“You came back.”
I smiled.
“So did you.”
She touched cheek.
“I almost didn’t.”
“Why did?”
“Matteo asked if I wanted paid leave.”
“And?”
“I said I wanted to finish my week.”
Good.
Her choice.
Then Rachel said:
“I need to tell you something.”
I looked.
“Counsel first.”
She frowned.
“If it’s investigation.”
“Oh.”
Good.
She nodded.
“Right.”
Then:
“Not investigation.”
“Okay.”
“I hated Leah.”
The words came out like confession.
I waited.
Rachel looked toward door.
“Not really.”
“Sounds like really.”
She almost laughed.
“For maybe a week.”
Fair.
“She would see me and scream.”
“Because reset?”
Rachel nodded.
“I didn’t know at first.”
There.
“When I started, Camille told me the blue room was clinically designed.”
“It was.”
“Not like that.”
“No.”
Rachel stared at counter.
“Brenner trained us.”
There.
“In person?”
“Twice.”
“What did she say?”
Rachel stopped.
“Counsel.”
Good.
“Tell them.”
She nodded.
Then:
“I’m telling you this part because I want you to know why scratching happened.”
I waited.
“Camille said if Leah escalated past level two, we had to take her.”
“Level two?”
“Throwing. hitting. refusing all directions.”
“That’s a lot of three-year-old.”
“Yes.”
“We had cards.”
She looked embarrassed.
“Behavior cards?”
“Yes.”
Of course.
Green.
Yellow.
Red?
Maybe.
“Was blue room only at red?”
“Supposed to be.”
“Supposed.”
Rachel closed eyes.
“After a while, Camille used it earlier.”
“Why?”
“She said we had to interrupt the cycle before Leah learned screaming changed adult decisions.”
There.
Extinction logic.
Potentially legitimate in some contexts.
Not with locked seclusion.
“Brenner?”
“I don’t know what she knew.”
Good.
“Don’t guess.”
Rachel nodded.
Then:
“Anna told Camille the latch was wrong.”
First former nanny.
“What happened?”
“Anna disappeared from schedule.”
There.
Fired?
Maybe.
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Rachel looked at me.
“Because this job pays more than my rent.”
There.
Money makes silence too.
Mine included.
Hospital bill in my bag.
Mother’s injections.
I understood too well.
At eight thirty, Matteo came into kitchen.
Rachel went still.
He noticed.
Good.
“Am I interrupting?”
Yes.
But he asked.
Rachel said:
“No.”
I said:
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
Rachel almost smiled.
Matteo stopped at doorway.
“Then I’ll wait.”
Good.
Rachel looked surprised.
After he left, she whispered:
“Who are you?”
“Tired.”
That answer still worked.
At nine, Dr. Chen asked to speak with me.
I looked at Matteo.
He said:
“If you want.”
Good.
We sat in small office.
She asked about my training.
“Child development?”
“Some college. daycare. pediatric sitter.”
“Any clinical credentials?”
“No.”
Good.
“Then what made you respond the way you did last night?”
I thought.
“My mother.”
Dr. Chen waited.
“She has rheumatoid arthritis.”
“Okay.”
“She hates when people decide pain means she can’t decide anything else.”
There.
“Doctors. family. me sometimes.”
I looked down.
“So when Leah was angry, everyone kept treating anger like it erased the rest of her.”
Dr. Chen nodded.
“That’s a useful observation.”
Not:
You’re gifted.
Not:
Become therapist.
Good.
“Do not let Matteo turn you into treatment.”
I laughed.
“You sound like every competent person he’s hired this week.”
“Good.”
“Painful.”
“Yes.”
Then she asked:
“Would you continue temporary caregiving while I help them build a new plan?”
I thought of money.
Then Leah.
Then power.
“For how long?”
“Two weeks maximum, ideally less.”
“Why maximum?”
“So she doesn’t become dependent on one new adult before household routines are stable.”
Excellent.
“I can do two weeks.”
“Agency?”
“Has to approve.”
“Good.”
“No expanded duties.”
“Yes.”
“No therapy tasks.”
“Yes.”
“No blue room.”
“Obviously.”
Good.
That night, outside counsel sent Matteo the first summary of former nanny interviews.
He read alone.
I knew because after Leah slept, he found me at dining table eating leftover rice from staff meal.
He did not hand me report.
Good.
He said:
“Five of them objected to the room.”
I looked.
“Five.”
“Three say they were removed from schedule within two weeks.”
“By whom?”
“Two by Camille. One through agency account manager.”
“Not all fourteen.”
“No.”
“How many actually quit because Leah?”
“Three so far.”
There.
Not zero.
Important.
Leah had hit, kicked, bitten, thrown objects.
Caregiving had genuinely become unsafe sometimes.
The blue room had not invented every hard behavior.
It had likely escalated some.
Both.
“Others?”
“One left for another job. One medical leave. One refused interview. One says the Duca schedule was impossible.”
Matteo almost looked offended.
“What?”
“Live-in rotation changed weekly.”
“Camille managed.”
“Apparently badly.”
He looked away.
Good.
“And the agency?”
“Lark Domestic coded almost every exit as ‘caregiver unable to manage child aggression.’”
Convenient.
“Why?”
“Unknown.”
“Contract incentive?”
His eyes sharpened.
“You think?”
“I think companies enjoy blaming people who can’t review paperwork.”
Three-year-olds included.
He looked at report.
“The agency receives a replacement fee after ninety days but not if family requests replacement before probation ends.”
There.
“So if Camille requested new nanny—”
“Agency loses fee.”
“But if nanny ‘couldn’t manage Leah’?”
“Replacement can be billed.”
There.
Money.
Not murder.
Not conspiracy maybe.
Incentive.
“Who signed invoices?”
“Household operations.”
“Camille.”
“Yes.”
“Any kickback?”
“No evidence.”
Good.
Maybe simply bad incentives and fear.
Matteo looked exhausted.
“I thought fourteen women ran from my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Everyone told me.”
“Because the story explained everything.”
He looked toward hallway.
“Easy.”
“Yes.”
“Wrong.”
“Partly.”
Good.
I continued.
“Three did quit because she hurt them.”
His face tightened.
“Don’t erase that because room was bad.”
He nodded.
“Dr. Chen said same.”
“I like her.”
“So does everyone except me.”
“That means she’s good.”
He almost smiled.
Then:
“Anna said something else.”
I waited.
“She said Leah stopped screaming once she was inside room.”
My stomach tightened.
“That sounds like success.”
“Yes.”
“What was actually happening?”
Matteo looked sick.
“She would go silent.”
There.
Not calm.
Shutdown.
“Anna wrote it in her notes.”
“Did Camille see?”
“Yes.”
“What did she write?”
Matteo’s voice went lower.
“‘Desired response achieved.’”
I closed eyes.
Sometimes adults reward the behavior that scares them least.
Silence looks easier than distress.
Until a child stops trusting language entirely.
I looked at Matteo.
“What did you do with reports?”
He went still.
“What?”
“Daily metrics.”
His jaw tightened.
“Camille sent summaries.”
“Did silence show as improvement?”
“Yes.”
There.
“How?”
“Incident duration decreased.”
Of course.
No screams.
No kicking.
Shorter incident.
Good chart.
Terrible child.
Matteo sat across from me.
“I approved bonus tied to incident reduction.”
That was new.
“To Camille?”
“Household performance.”
“Care team?”
“Yes.”
There.
Not bribe.
But metric.
“Did you mean fewer locked-room minutes?”
“No.”
“Did anyone ask?”
“No.”
Good.
He looked toward windows.
Manhattan below.
“Everything in my companies runs on targets.”
“Children aren’t freight.”
His mouth tightened.
“No.”
Good.
The next morning, Matteo suspended all child-care performance bonuses.
Not because bonuses are always bad.
Because nobody had defined what success meant beyond fewer incidents.
Dr. Chen helped build new measures:
sleep,
appetite trends,
recovery after upset,
spontaneous play,
comfort seeking from multiple trusted adults,
reduction in unsafe behavior without seclusion,
and caregiver injury.
No target forcing a child to perform happiness.
Good.
Lark Domestic received notice preserving exit records and pausing Duca account pending review.
Camille remained on administrative leave.
Brenner’s reports were being collected.
No one had yet proven who ordered external latch.
The work order said Camille.
Why she did it still mattered.
At six that evening, I returned.
Leah stood near penthouse doors.
No train missile.
Progress.
She held something behind her back.
“What?”
She produced a blue wooden train.
My body went still.
She looked at it.
Then at me.
“Blue.”
“Yes.”
She did not throw it.
Did not hide it.
Just held.
“Do you want it?”
I asked.
A tiny nod.
Good.
She placed it on track.
Then pushed it toward yellow tunnel.
No symbolism needed.
May you like
A toy was allowed to become a toy again.
That was enough.
