Chapter 2 - Ghosts of the Past"What did you say?" Daniel stepped closer to Vanessa, his brow furrowing.
"Oh, you didn't know?" Vanessa let out a hysterical, high-pitched laugh, high on the adrenaline of absolute desperation. "Mr. High-and-Mighty Vance, protector of the downtrodden! You didn't do a background check on your little housemaid, did you? Because if you had, you’d know her mother was Elena Vance—your uncle's disgraced mistress who tried to burn this very estate to the ground before running off with a stolen portfolio!"
The air in the room sucked out completely.
Margaret gasped aloud, clapping a trembling hand over her mouth. Several of the older guests murmured among themselves, exchanging wide-eyed glances. The name Elena Vance was a curse word whispered in the dark corners of the Vance family history—a scandal that had nearly destroyed the family's shipping empire back in the late nineties.
Emily dropped her gaze, her shoulders shaking. The tears she had tried so hard to suppress finally spilled over, hot and fast, tracking down her dust-smudged cheeks. It was true. Everything Vanessa said was true. She hadn't taken the job by accident; she hadn't stumbled into the Vance estate out of sheer luck. She had spent five years earning certifications, changing her last name legally through her mother's maiden name, and orchestrating every single detail just to get inside these walls.
She needed to find the missing ledger. She needed to prove that her mother hadn't stolen anything, but had been framed by the very people who now stood judging her.
"Emily?" Daniel turned to her, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain. The cold, infallible billionaire facade cracked. There was hurt in his eyes—not because she was a thief, but because she had lied to him. "Is this true?"
Emily swallowed hard, her throat feeling like it was lined with broken glass. She lifted her chin, refusing to cower anymore. The slap on her face burned, but it was nothing compared to the fire of injustice that had fueled her entire existence.
"Yes," Emily said, her voice steadying, ringing clear across the silent foyer. "My mother was Elena Vance. And she never burned anything. She was framed—just like you saw me framed ten minutes ago."
Vanessa sneered, wiping a stray tear of panic from her cheek. "Oh, please! Like mother, like daughter! A family of grifters and thieves! She didn't come here to clean, Daniel. She came here to steal your secrets, ruin my reputation, and take what she thinks belongs to her!"
"Shut up, Vanessa," Daniel commanded, his voice dropping an octave into a tone so terrifying that Vanessa instantly clamped her mouth shut.
Daniel turned back to Emily. The anger in his eyes had morphed into something complex—a volatile mix of betrayal, curiosity, and a deep, simmering suspicion directed not at Emily, but at the ghosts haunting his own family lineage.
"Security," Daniel ordered again, not breaking eye contact with Emily. "Take Vanessa to the holding room in the basement. Confiscate her phone, her bags, and everything on her person. If she so much as touches a screen, I want every asset her family holds frozen within the hour."
"You can't do that!" Vanessa screamed as the two security guards grabbed her by the arms, dragging her screaming across the pristine marble floor. Her designer dress hitched up, her hair came undone, and her expensive perfume left a sickeningly sweet trail in her wake. "You'll pay for this, Daniel! Both of you! You're letting a rat destroy your family!"
The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind Vanessa, cutting off her shrill screams.
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The guests, realizing the show was well and truly over—and that staying any longer might implicate them in whatever corporate and personal war Daniel Vance was about to wage—began murmuring excuses and rushing toward the exits. Within five minutes, the grand foyer was empty of outsiders.
Only Daniel, Margaret, and Emily remained.
