Chapter 7 - The Night They Tried to Turn Me Into a Thief
A wealthy family throwing a charity gala while investigators examined missing charity money struck me as an unusual choice.
Dominic called it a contractual obligation.
Mrs. Bell called it “rich people applauding themselves for buying soup.”
Oliver called it a chance to steal tiny pastries from a silver tray.
I called it an excellent opportunity to stay out of sight.
That plan lasted until four o'clock, when Claire rushed into my office with a terrified expression.
“The caterer's delivery list doesn't match the food,” she said.
“Again?”
“Again. And the event planner says the extra champagne was approved by you.”
“I don't drink champagne.”
“She says your initials are on the form.”
I checked. Someone had attached an approval bearing J.K. to a purchase order issued before Dominic hired me. They hadn't even bothered to check the dates.
I copied the paperwork and brought it to the independent accountant. By six, he'd identified three other purchases charged to the clinic fund instead of the event budget.
The gala went ahead under a new safeguard: no money or donations would be received by household staff. Everything was handled directly by an outside charitable administrator.
Victor hated the change.
He watched from the doorway as tables were reset in the main hall. Gold-framed photographs of Rose's clinics lined one wall. A band rehearsed softly. Guests in formal clothes gathered beneath chandeliers, praising generosity they had yet to inspect.
I wore my black uniform with a fresh white apron. There was no reason to hide my pregnancy anymore. Dominic knew; Mrs. Bell knew; half the house knew because Oliver had asked whether babies liked cinnamon rolls.
Dominic approached while I checked the seating plan.
“Are you eating enough?”
“Mrs. Bell has made it a full-time department.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“I'm going to say something during the donor remarks.”
“Please don't mention Duke. He's shy.”
“It's about the staff.”
I looked at him.
“I don't want to praise honesty while refusing to correct dishonest accusations,” he said. “The outside review will be announced.”
“Are you certain?”
“No.”
That answer surprised me.
He looked across the room where Victor was speaking to two businessmen.
“But I'm tired of being certain about things I never checked.”
Before I could answer, Mrs. Bell waved me toward the kitchen. Oliver had climbed onto a counter to rescue a pastry tray from what he claimed was an unfairly tall shelf.
I was helping him down when someone shouted from the hall.
“June Keller!”
Victor.
The music stopped.
I stepped out. Guests turned. Dominic stood beside the long banquet table, a dark expression already forming.
Victor held an open cash drawer.
“We have a problem.”
Inside the drawer was a space where a packet of donor checks and emergency cash had been kept for the evening. It was now empty.
Victor raised his voice for the room.
“The packet was found in Mrs. Keller's staff locker.”
Cold moved through me.
“That isn't possible.”
Two security employees approached, one carrying a sealed envelope. Victor displayed its label and my locker number.
A woman near the fireplace whispered, “The pregnant maid?”
The words cut through the room.
I thought of Dominic's twelve stacks of cash. His suspicion. The sixty-one women before me. The design of the trap was suddenly so obvious I felt almost embarrassed that I'd believed passing the first test meant I was safe.
Dominic stepped forward.
“Who opened her locker?”
“Nolan's replacement, under my supervision,” Victor answered.
“Was June present?”
“No.”
“Then what evidence connects her to the contents?”
Victor blinked.
“The packet was in her locker.”
“Whose key opened it?”
“Management has spare keys.”
Dominic looked toward me.
“June, did you place that packet there?”
“No.”
He nodded once.
“Then nobody is accusing her again until we establish what happened.”
Victor's smile hardened.
“You're going to take her word over physical evidence?”
“I'm going to establish whether the evidence is genuine.”
The room was completely silent.
I swallowed.
“May I ask one thing?”
Dominic turned. “Yes.”
I pointed at the envelope.
“Who wrote my locker number on that label?”
Victor looked down.
“Security.”
“My locker number changed yesterday when Mrs. Bell moved me to the office corridor.”
The security employee glanced at the label.
The old number was printed beneath the new number, crossed out in blue ink.
“How did you know my new locker before I did?” I asked Victor.
His face changed, only slightly.
Then I took out the original catering form.
“You also signed a charge to the clinic fund using my initials four days before I worked here.”
Several guests leaned forward.
Victor stepped toward me.
“You have no idea what you're accusing me of.”
“I'm asking questions.”
Dominic raised a hand. “That's enough.”
For one awful second I thought he meant me.
Then he turned toward Victor.
“Hand the envelope to the independent auditor. Now.”
Victor stared at him.
Dominic continued. “And hand over your office keys.”
A murmur spread through the crowd.
Victor set the envelope down slowly.
I became aware of every face around me. Nina had moved beside Claire, not abandoning me but not quite brave enough to speak. One of the donors looked away as if my embarrassment were contagious. Another stared directly at my stomach. I wanted to tell them that pregnancy hadn't made me either more honest or less capable of defending myself. I was a woman who knew how to count. That was all. And in a room full of people who had praised the mansion's charitable mission an hour earlier, almost nobody seemed interested in whether the evidence was fair.
Dominic looked at the same crowd. He seemed to understand something for the first time: a public accusation has consequences before anyone decides whether it's true. He took a slow breath and told the staff no one was to question me without my lawyer or an independent witness. I didn't thank him. I should never have needed that protection in the first place.
But before the auditor could collect it, every light in the west wing went out.
A security alarm began shrieking.
Someone shouted that a basement door had been forced.
I turned toward the staff corridor. Oliver was standing near the dark hallway, frozen.
May you like
Then I heard a crash from downstairs.
And the night stopped being about a missing envelope.
