Chapter 5 - Trapped in the Web“Playing secret agent, are we, little maid?” Mrs. Higgins sneered, taking a slow step into the room, her eyes gleaming with wicked delight.
Grace’s heart slammed against her ribs like a sledgehammer. She desperately clutched the burner phone and the black flash drive in her apron pocket, her mind racing for a way out.
“I—I was just cleaning, Mrs. Higgins,” Grace stammered, backing away until her lower back hit the edge of the mahogany desk. “The dust in here—”
“Save your pathetic lies for someone who cares,” the housekeeper hissed, closing the distance between them with surprising speed. She lunged forward, her bony hand grabbing for Grace’s apron pocket. “Hand over whatever you just stole, or I’ll scream for security right now and have you thrown in jail before the night is over!”
A fierce struggle ensued. Grace fought back with every ounce of adrenaline fueled by desperation, twisting away and trying to dodge past the older woman.
“Let me go!” Grace cried out.
“Thief! Intruder!” Mrs. Higgins shrieked at the top of her lungs, grabbing a fistful of Grace’s dark brown hair and pulling hard.
Footsteps echoed frantically down the third-floor corridor—heavy, rapid footsteps. A second later, the bedroom door burst wide open.
Standing in the doorway, chest heaving slightly, was Arthur Vance himself, flanked by two security guards. Behind them, walking with absolute, terrifying calm, was Charles Whitmore.
The room fell instantly dead silent.
Mrs. Higgins immediately let go of Grace’s hair, dropping to a theatrical, weeping posture of absolute victimization.
“Mr. Vance! Mr. Whitmore! Thank God you’re here!” Mrs. Higgins wailed, pointing a trembling finger straight at Grace. “I caught her! I caught this little rat red-handed going through Mr. Vance’s private desk! She’s a thief! She’s been stealing company secrets!”
Arthur Vance’s face contorted into a mask of pure rage. He strode into the room, his eyes blazing. “What the hell is the meaning of this? My private files! That girl was snooping through my private files!”
All eyes turned toward Charles Whitmore.
Grace stood frozen against the desk, her cheeks stained with tears, her hair disheveled, looking every bit the guilty party. She looked at Charles, silently pleading with him. Don’t abandon me. You said you’d protect me.
Charles’s face remained an impenetrable mask of ice. He slowly stepped into the room, his dark navy suit immaculate, his gaze sweeping over the scene with chilling detachment.
May you like
“Is this true, Grace?” Charles asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a razor blade. “Were you going through Mr. Vance’s private belongings?”
Mrs. Higgins smirked triumphantly, shooting a victorious look at Grace. It’s over for you, orphan.
