“No,” Priya said. “Not just like that. With paperwork.”
For some reason, that made me trust her.
Ethan glanced at her. “How long?”
“By noon for the settlements. Longer for the disputes.”
I gripped the edge of the chair. “What happens to me after?”
Ethan looked puzzled. “After what?”
“After you pay it. After Ryan. After everyone knows.”
Priya’s expression softened, but she pretended to focus on the documents.
Ethan came around the table and sat across from me instead of standing over me.
“What do you want to happen?”
No one had asked me that in years.
The honest answer was embarrassingly small.
“I want to sleep without listening for footsteps,” I said. “I want to stop counting dollars before I buy milk. I want to go to work and not wonder which hallway is safe.”
Ethan’s face changed in a way I couldn’t read.
“Then we start there,” he said.
By eight o’clock, the mansion had awakened.
Staff moved through corridors with trays, linens, flower arrangements, and quiet speculation. News traveled oddly in houses like that. Not through announcements, but through pauses. A glance held too long. A whisper that stopped when I entered. A door closing softly.
Ryan was gone.
Security was everywhere.
No one knew why.
Or everyone did.
Mrs. Alvarez assigned me to the small library instead of the breakfast service, which was her way of hiding me in plain sight. The library overlooked the winter garden, where bare branches scraped lightly against the glass roof. Dust floated in pale morning light as I arranged books no one had touched in months.
I tried to feel relieved.
Instead, I felt exposed.
At 9:15, Ethan found me there.
“You should be resting.”
“You said I still had a job.”
“I didn’t say you had to polish books while injured.”
“It helps.”
He looked around the room. “Dust helps?”
“Doing something with my hands helps.”
He accepted that.
For a while, he stood beside the shelves while I worked. It was awkward, but not unpleasant. Ethan did not fill silence just to prove he could. I appreciated that.
Then he said, “Do you know a man named Marcus Vale?”
My hand stopped on a leather-bound atlas.
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I think I would remember.”
“He runs staffing for several private estates in the city. Ryan called him twice last night before entering my property.”
I turned slowly. “Why?”
“That’s what I’m trying to learn.”
The name meant nothing to me, and yet dread moved through me anyway. Hidden connections were always worse than obvious enemies. They suggested planning. Doors opened from the other side.
“Did Ryan say anything?” I asked.
