Chapter 6 - THE BLACKMAILThe Monday morning sun brought no warmth to downtown Chicago; instead, a bitter, biting wind whipped off Lake Michigan, rattling the windows of the Empress Hotel and sending pedestrians scurrying down Michigan Avenue with their coats pulled tight.
Penelope stood in the tenth-floor executive office, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the gray river below. It had been less than seventy-two hours since she stepped foot in Lake Geneva, yet her entire world had fundamentally fractured. She was no longer just a housekeeper. She was part of a dangerous, high-stakes masquerade.
The heavy mahogany office door clicked open, and Albert walked in. He didn't look like a billionaire mogul; he looked like a man who hadn't slept in three days. His tie was slightly loosened, his eyes shadowed, and his jaw set in a hard, grim line.
“Did you hear?” Albert asked without preamble, tossing his leather briefcase onto the desk.
Penelope turned around, her heart skipping a beat. “Hear what?”
Albert pulled his phone out of his pocket, his thumb swiping across the screen with aggressive irritation before sliding the device across the polished wood toward her.
“Check your email. Or better yet, look at the front desk downstairs.”
Penelope stepped forward, picking up the phone. On the screen was an anonymous message sent directly to Albert’s executive portal. Attached was a short, high-definition video file accompanied by a brief block of text:
Nice try with the lobby stunt, Mr. Crawford. But pretending your housekeeper is your high-society wife is a great way to tank hotel stock when the board finds out. Especially when the media gets the unedited security footage of you coaching her backstage.
Price for silence: Two hundred thousand dollars wired to offshore account #4982 by midnight tonight. Otherwise, the video goes straight to the Chicago Tribune.
Penelope’s breath caught in her throat. The phone felt like it was burning her palm.
“A security camera,” Penelope whispered, her voice shaking uncontrollably. “Someone in the hotel recorded us.”
“Marcus Vance,” Albert said, his voice dropping into a dark, terrifying register. “Head of night security. He accessed the archives Saturday afternoon. My IT team traced the export IP address an hour ago.”
“Two hundred thousand dollars,” Penelope read aloud, her eyes wide with panic. “Albert, they’re blackmailing you! If you pay them, it’ll never end. If you don't pay them, the whole world finds out we lied to your dying mother!”
Albert walked over to the window, staring out at the Chicago skyline with an expression so cold it could have frozen water.
“I don’t negotiate with blackmailers,” Albert said quietly. “And I certainly won't let some corrupt security guard extort my company.”
“But your mother—”
“My mother’s heart can’t take a public scandal,” Albert interrupted, turning sharply to face her, his gray eyes burning with fierce intensity. “And more importantly, Penelope... I won’t let you take the fall for this. This was my idea. I pulled you into this mess.”
Penelope stared at him, a strange, overwhelming rush of emotion swelling in her chest. For years, she had been invisible—a woman people stepped over, ignored, or blamed for messes she didn't make. Now, a billionaire was willing to risk his empire to shield her from the fallout.
“What are we going to do?” she asked, stepping closer to him.
May you like
Albert’s jaw tightened. He reached out, his hand gently grasping her arm, his thumb brushing against her wrist.
“We aren't going to pay him,” Albert said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “We’re going to trap him.”
