Chapter 6 - The Search for Proof
The mansion was massive, but Valentina was a creature of habit.
She kept her personal office locked at all times.
It was located on the ground floor, just past the library.
Elena knew the documents had to be in there.
That night, a formal dinner was being hosted for Marco’s return.
Important politicians and business partners filled the dining room.
Valentina was busy playing the perfect hostess.
This was Elena's only window of opportunity.
While the other servants were frantically serving champagne, Elena slipped away.
She moved silently down the darkened hallway toward Valentina’s office.
The door was locked with an electronic keypad.
Elena cursed under her breath.
She didn't know the code.
She pressed her forehead against the cool wood, thinking frantically.
What would a narcissist like Valentina use for a code?
Her own birthday? Too obvious.
Her wedding anniversary? She didn't love Marco enough for that.
Then it hit her.
The day she took total control.
The day she faked Isabella’s death.
Elena typed in the date from the golden plaque beneath the portrait.
0-9-1-4.
A green light blinked.
The lock clicked open.
Elena’s breath caught in her throat.
She slipped inside and closed the door behind her, turning on her small flashlight.
The office was impeccably organized.
She moved straight to the large mahogany desk.
She pulled open the drawers.
Financial statements.
Catering receipts.
Nothing suspicious.
She noticed a large painting on the wall behind the desk.
It hung slightly crooked.
Elena reached out and pushed the frame aside.
A sleek, steel wall safe stared back at her.
She didn't have the code for this one.
Panic began to bubble in her chest.
She started searching the desk again, looking for a written code.
She checked under the keyboard.
Inside the pen cups.
Nothing.
Then, she heard footsteps approaching the office.
Heavy, purposeful footsteps.
Someone had left the dinner party.
Elena's heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped bird.
The doorknob began to turn.
She had nowhere to hide except under the massive desk.
She dove beneath the mahogany frame just as the door swung open.
The overhead lights flicked on, blinding her.
A pair of polished black leather shoes stepped into the room.
It wasn't Valentina.
It was Mr. Harrison, the elderly head butler.
He walked over to the desk, completely unaware of Elena hiding beneath it.
He opened a hidden side drawer that Elena hadn't noticed.
He pulled out a small, velvet pouch.
He sighed heavily, a sound full of deep regret.
Elena made a split-second decision.
She couldn't do this alone.
She needed an inside ally.
Slowly, she slid out from under the desk.
“Mr. Harrison,” she whispered.
The old man gasped, dropping the pouch.
May you like
Pills scattered across the expensive rug.
He stared at Elena, terror written all over his wrinkled face.
