Chapter 4 - The Investigation
Thirty minutes later, the study on the second floor smelled of old leather and expensive scotch, though nobody was drinking.
Ethan sat behind his grandfather’s massive oak desk, rubbing his temples as if he were trying to erase a migraine with his bare fingers. Vanessa was pacing the length of the Turkish rug, her eyes red-rimmed from theatrical tears, her phone clutched in her hand like a weapon she wished she could fire.
“She belongs in a prison cell, Ethan, not a staff quarters!” Vanessa snapped, whirling around to face him. “Did you see her? Did you see the look in her eyes? That wasn’t a housekeeper defending herself against a stumble. That was... that was calculated! She grabbed my ankle like a trained thug! I want her fired, escorted off the property by county deputies, and blacklisted from every domestic agency in New England before the sun goes down!”
Ethan didn’t look up immediately. He stared down at the blotter on his desk, his mind racing through options that didn’t involve calling the police—because calling the police meant filing an incident report, and filing an incident report meant questions from local journalists who would love nothing more than a front-page scandal about the Whitmore engagement party three weeks before Christmas.
“Vane, let’s calm down,” Ethan said evenly, his voice carrying a tired authority that only made her angrier. “You tried to trip her. I saw the movement from the archway. You threw your foot out, and she caught you.”
Vanessa stopped pacing, her jaw dropping in sheer disbelief.
“I threw my foot out? Are you insane? I lost my balance! I was adjusting my shoe and she lunged at me like a wild animal! You’re taking her side? After everything I’ve planned for this family? After the guest list I’ve curated for six months?”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side,” Ethan said, finally looking up. His gaze was sharp, the businessman finally taking control of a situation that had gotten entirely out of hand. “I’m looking at facts. You’ve been baiting her for weeks, Vanessa. I’ve seen it. I’ve heard the way you talk to her when you think I’m not in earshot.”
Vanessa crossed her arms, her lips thinning into a hard, white line. “She’s a servant, Ethan. She’s paid to take orders, not to stare at me with those dead, creepy eyes. I checked her references again this morning. Do you know what my agency told me? They couldn't verify her three-year gap. Not a single tax form, not a single lease agreement. For all we know, she’s an identity thief or an ex-con using a fake Social Security number.”
Ethan frowned. That detail gave him pause. In his world, security was paramount, especially with three hundred high-profile guests arriving for a gala where half the state legislature would be in attendance.
“I’ll speak with her,” Ethan said quietly. “I’ll ask her about her background directly. If there’s an issue, she’ll be let go with a generous severance package. But there will be no police, no scandal, and no public drama before the gala.”
“If she isn’t gone by tonight,” Vanessa hissed, leaning over the desk until her face was inches from his, “I’m taking my ring off right now, and you can explain to the Boston Globe why the Whitmore engagement was called off three weeks before the ceremony.”
She spun on her heel and stormed out of the study, slamming the heavy oak door so hard the crystal decanter on the sideboard rattled.
May you like
Ethan sat alone in the quiet room for a long time. Then, he picked up the internal landline phone and dialed the extension for the ground-floor staff quarters.
“Naomi,” he said when the line clicked open. “Come up to the library. We need to talk.”
