Chapter 2 - The Housekeeper I Betrayed
Marisol refused to sit.
She stood in the guest suite doorway with her hands folded.
She looked tired.
Older than her forty-eight years.
There were dark circles beneath her eyes.
“I am sorry, Mr. Vance.”
My jaw tightened.
“For what?”
“For making you suspicious of me.”
“You didn’t.”
She looked down.
“I know what Miss Chloe has been saying.”
I stared.
“How long?”
Marisol hesitated.
“Since she moved into the house.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
She laughed bitterly.
“Would you have believed me?”
The answer hurt because it was true.
“No.”
“I know.”
I walked closer.
“I watched the cameras.”
Her eyes widened.
“You saw?”
“Everything.”
She closed her eyes.
Tears appeared.
Not tears of relief.
Tears of exhaustion.
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“She started slowly.”
Marisol sat down.
“She was charming at first. She brought flowers for the girls. She bought Sofia a new doll. She told Valeria she was beautiful.”
I listened.
“Then she began correcting everything.”
“Everything?”
“How they ate. How they spoke. How they dressed. How they sat.”
Marisol rubbed her hands together.
“She wanted obedience.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at her.
“Tell me everything.”
She looked toward the hallway.
“When the girls' mother died, they were very young. I promised her I'd stay.”
I knew that.
What I hadn't known was that my late wife, Elena, had asked Marisol personally.
“She said if anything happened to her, I was to protect them.”
My chest tightened.
“You never told me that.”
“She asked me not to.”
“Why?”
“She knew you would eventually remarry. She feared whoever entered your life might not love the girls.”
I went silent.
Marisol continued.
“Chloe hated Elena's photographs.”
“What?”
“She removed them.”
I remembered.
Months earlier, I had noticed some photographs were missing.
Chloe said Marisol had misplaced them.
I had believed her.
“Why did you stay?”
“Because Sofia cried whenever I talked about leaving.”
I looked away.
“Why didn't the girls tell me?”
“Because Chloe told them you would send her away if they complained.”
I closed my eyes.
Six-year-old Sofia believed honesty could cost her father.
Nine-year-old Valeria had learned to stand between her sister and an adult.
I had missed every warning.
“What else?”
Marisol hesitated.
“She wanted the girls to call her Mom.”
My head snapped toward her.
“They refused.”
“Of course.”
“She became angry.”
“Did she ever hurt them before today?”
Marisol looked at me.
“She grabbed them.”
“Anything worse?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She lowered her voice.
“She wanted me to punish them.”
“What?”
“She would accuse them of stealing things.”
I remembered the jewelry.
The perfume.
The cash.
“They didn't steal anything.”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Marisol shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“I might.”
I showed her a photograph of Damian Ross.
Her face changed immediately.
“You know him.”
“I've seen him.”
“Where?”
“Twice.”
“Tell me.”
“The first time was outside the house.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
That was shortly after Chloe moved in.
“What was he doing?”
“Watching.”
I felt the rage rise.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I did.”
I stared.
“When?”
“You told me not to bother you with every suspicious person around the property.”
The memory hit me.
She had mentioned a black SUV.
I had told her to let security handle it.
I had dismissed it.
Because I trusted Chloe.
Because Chloe had become the person I listened to.
The second time Marisol saw Damian was more troubling.
“He came to the service entrance.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“With Chloe.”
My blood chilled.
“What?”
“She told me he was a family friend.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
I looked toward the monitoring room.
Two weeks ago, I had been in New York.
Chloe had hosted a “charity meeting.”
I hadn't questioned it.
“Did the girls see him?”
“Valeria did.”
“What happened?”
“She ran upstairs.”
“Why?”
Marisol looked terrified.
“She recognized him.”
I frowned.
“My daughter was nine.”
“Some children remember faces.”
“But from where?”
“I don't know.”
I immediately went to Valeria.
She was sitting beside Sofia in the family room.
The moment she saw me, she ran over.
“Daddy.”
I dropped to one knee.
She wrapped her arms around me.
I held her too tightly.
“I'm sorry.”
She pulled back.
“For what?”
“For not listening.”
She looked at me carefully.
“Are you mad at Marisol?”
“No.”
“Chloe said you were.”
I felt sick.
“Chloe lied.”
Valeria looked at me.
“She says people who love us don't tell us what they're really doing.”
“Do you believe her?”
Valeria hesitated.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Marisol never asks us to hide things from you.”
I kissed my daughter's forehead.
“Did you ever see the man in the black car?”
Her face changed.
“Which man?”
“The man named Damian.”
She looked down.
“He came when Mommy was alive.”
My blood stopped.
“What?”
Valeria swallowed.
“Mommy didn't like him.”
“How do you remember?”
“She locked the study door when he came.”
“Did you hear anything?”
Valeria nodded.
“They argued.”
“About what?”
“She said he was dangerous.”
I looked at Marisol.
She closed her eyes.
Elena had known.
Maybe she had known more than I ever understood.
That night, Hector found me in the study.
“We found something.”
He placed a file on the desk.
“Damian Ross wasn't simply my father's lieutenant.”
“What then?”
“He was the person your father trusted with the family's finances.”
I read the report.
Money had disappeared before my father's death.
Large amounts.
Hidden accounts.
Transfers to a shell company.
The shell company still existed.
Its current director was…
Chloe Bennett.
My hand tightened around the paper.
“She owns it.”
Hector nodded.
“Through three layers.”
“Why would she be involved with Damian?”
“We don't know.”
I looked toward the hall.
“Find out.”
Hector hesitated.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Someone has been accessing your private files.”
“When?”
“For months.”
“Who?”
“Your fiancée's fingerprints were found on the cabinet.”
Silence.
I stood.
“Do not confront her.”
Hector frowned.
“Boss?”
“Not yet.”
Because I wanted to know how deep the betrayal went.
That night, I reviewed every recording.
At 2:14 a.m., Chloe entered my study.
At 2:16, she opened a drawer.
At 2:17, she removed a file.
At 2:19, she took a photograph of my girls.
At 2:23, she left.
The next morning, the picture was back.
Except there was something in her hand.
A small white envelope.
I slowed the footage.
Zoomed in.
A name was visible.
Elena Vance.
I stared.
My late wife's name.
Why would Chloe need something belonging to Elena?
I searched the archive.
Nothing.
Then I remembered one room.
Elena's old dressing room.
A room I had refused to enter since her death.
If Chloe had found something there, she might have discovered what Elena knew.
And if that evidence existed, Chloe had a reason to fear me.
I stood.
“Hector.”
“Yes?”
“Open my wife's room.”
He looked at me.
“You haven't entered in five years.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
May you like
I walked toward the stairs.
“But I'm done being blind.”
