For two hours my triplets screamed in pain, completely ignoring the doctors—until little Sophie pointed her cloth doll at the corner.

Inside the dark lobby, Marco stared at me, his fingers tightening around his weapon. "Breaching charges? Boss... did the cleaning crew plant explosives?"

My mind raced through the past seven days.

The commercial cleaning crew. The ventilation contractor. The strange, subtle anomalies that had occurred throughout the week.

Then, I remembered little Sophie's innocent words from twenty minutes ago:

"The wall has a bad bug inside... It's screaming softly."

"Marco," I said, my voice remarkably quiet. "Where did Sophie say the sound was coming from?"

"The north wall of the nursery," Marco answered.

"No," I corrected, my eyes narrowing as the final piece of the puzzle slotted into place. "She said the wall was humming. High-frequency sound waves don't travel through solid concrete without causing microscopic acoustic resonance in thin plaster walls."

I turned to the primary security monitor, looking closely at the thermal readout of the entire estate's structural grid.

"Paulie is bluffing," I said.

Marco blinked. "Bluffing? Boss, if he has charges in the basement—"

"If he had charges in the basement, he wouldn't be standing on my front porch making speeches," I reasoned coldly. "He used the ultrasonic transducer in the nursery because it was tiny, easy to conceal during a routine inspection, and caused maximum psychological distress without leaving physical marks. He wanted us panicked, confused, and desperate."

I picked up the intercom microphone once again.

"Paulie," I said, my voice smooth and mocking. "You always were a terrible poker player."

Outside, Paulie's smile instantly vanished. "You think I'm joking, Moretti?! I will flatten this mansion right now!"

"Press the button, Paulie," I invited him softly. "Press it and see what happens."

Paulie's face contorted with rage. He slammed his thumb down on the remote control button.

Nothing happened.

No explosion rocked the foundation. No concrete crumbled.

The only sound was the cold winter wind whipping through the trees.

Paulie looked down at the remote control in disbelief, pressing the button three, four, five times frantically. "What the hell?! Why isn't it working?!"

"Because my housekeeper's four-year-old daughter found your receiver an hour ago," I informed him over the speaker. "And my chief of security destroyed it."

Paulie looked up at the camera, his eyes wild with sudden realization and rage. "Kill the lights! Tear down those steel doors with the heavy ram! NOW!"