Chapter 2 - Confronting the Manager
Arthur Harrison walked into my office carrying a thick, leather-bound binder under his arm. He looked exactly as an estate manager in Beverly Hills should: immaculate gray suit, perfectly coiffed silver hair, and a pleasant, subservient smile that suggested nothing in the world could ever disturb his composure.
"The records you requested, Mr. Vance," Harrison said, placing the binder gently onto my desk. "Is everything all right? You look somewhat tense."
I didn't touch the binder. I didn't even look at it. Instead, I stood up and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the manicured gardens, where a team of landscapers was working under the afternoon sun.
"Arthur, how long have you worked for my family?" I asked quietly.
"Seven years this coming November, sir," he replied instantly. "And it has been the highest honor of my career."
"An honor," I repeated, turning around to face him. "Tell me, Arthur, do you consider $5,500 a month a fair wage for a senior housekeeper who works twelve hours a day?"
Harrison’s smile froze for a fraction of a second before returning to its flawless state. "Rosa is an exceptional worker, sir. Very thorough. I believe her compensation is highly competitive for the Los Angeles area."
"Then why hasn't she received a single dollar of it in ninety days?"
The words cut through the room like a guillotine. Harrison’s posture stiffened. The color didn't leave his face—he was too professional for that—but his eyes darted toward my laptop screen, which still displayed the routing data for Apex Property Management LLC.
"Sir, I’m not sure what Rosa has told you," Harrison said, his voice dropping an octave, adopting a tone of deep, manufactured concern. "But we have been experiencing severe banking glitches with the automated clearing house system. I have been in constant communication with the bank’s commercial department. I explicitly told Rosa this morning that her funds were being manually cleared today."
"Don't lie to me, Arthur," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. I walked back to my desk and slammed my palm down on the laptop. "I just traced the routing numbers. The money isn't stuck in a banking glitch. It’s being diverted into a shell corporation called Apex Property Management. A corporation whose sole authorized signer is you."
Harrison took a step back, his hands trembling slightly. "Mr. Vance, I can explain... it’s a temporary holding account for domestic tax purposes—"
"You stole from a mother who scrubs my floors to feed her child," I roared, the corporate mask finally shattering. "You let her landlord threaten to throw her onto the street while you stood in my house wearing a two-thousand-dollar suit paid for by my money! You are fired, effective immediately. And if you think this is just an HR issue, you are severely mistaken. The police are already on their way."
May you like
Harrison’s expression transformed from panic to something far uglier—a smug, arrogant malice. He straightened his tie and looked me directly in the eyes.
"Go ahead and call the police, Mr. Vance," Harrison sneered. "But before you do, you might want to look at who signed the corporate authorization forms for Apex Property Management. I didn't build that structure alone. I had a partner. Someone with your own last name."
