Chapter 3 - The Summons
The next morning, at 8:00 AM, a sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up directly in front of Valerie’s run-down apartment building in East New York.
The sight of a six-hundred-thousand-dollar luxury vehicle sitting between rusted sedans and overflowing trash cans drew immediate stares from neighbors. The rear door opened, and Oliver Reed, Franklin’s head chauffeur, stepped out dressed in a crisp black uniform.
He walked up the three flights of stairs and knocked politely on Valerie’s door.
When Valerie opened it, wearing a faded sweater and dark circles under her eyes, Oliver bowed his head respectfully. "Ms. Cole. Mr. Buchanan requests your presence at his personal residence. He has instructed me to inform you that it is regarding the safety and welfare of Emma and Lily."
Valerie looked back at her mother, who sat at the kitchen table, her face rigid with anxiety.
"Go, Valerie," Alice whispered. "Look him in the eye. Show him a Cole never bows to a Buchanan."
Ten minutes later, Valerie was swept across the borough, crossing the bridge back into the gilded world of Manhattan.
When she entered the Buchanan mansion this time, the atmosphere was entirely different. The grand foyer was quiet, but there was a sharp, electricity-like tension in the air.
Eleanor, the head housekeeper, met her at the door, offering a warm, genuine smile. "Ms. Cole. Mr. Buchanan is waiting for you in the morning breakfast room. The girls have been asking for you since they woke up."
Valerie followed Eleanor down a long, sunlit corridor lined with priceless oil paintings, entering a grand room with floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking a private courtyard garden.
Franklin sat at the head of a long mahogany table. He had dropped his formal suit, wearing a dark navy cashmere sweater and trousers. He looked refreshed, though his blue eyes carried a deep, analytical focus.
Across from him sat Emma and Lily, pushing scrambled eggs around their silver plates.
The moment the girls saw Valerie step into the room, their faces transformed.
"Valerie!" Lily shrieked, knocking her fork onto the floor as she scrambled out of her chair.
Emma followed right behind her. The two five-year-old girls rushed across the room and threw their arms around Valerie’s waist, burying their faces against her sweater.
Valerie instinctively dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around both girls, her heart swelling with an emotion so deep it terrified her. "Hey, little ones. Did you sleep well?"
"We dreamed you stayed," Emma whispered into her neck. "Daddy said you were coming to visit!"
Franklin stood up from the table, watching the interaction with an unreadable expression. He gestured toward an empty chair beside him. "Sit with us, Ms. Cole. Please."
Valerie helped the girls back to their seats and sat down. A butler immediately poured her fresh orange juice and placed a plate of warm pastries before her.
"I called you here for two reasons," Franklin said, resting his elbows on the table and folding his hands. "First, to apologize for how Victoria spoke to you last night. Her behavior was unacceptable, and I have addressed it."
"You don't need to apologize for her, Mr. Buchanan," Valerie said coolly. "She made her character clear."
Franklin’s lips twitched with a faint, amused smile before returning to his serious tone. "Second... my daughters haven't smiled or spoken a full sentence to anyone since their mother died two years ago. Last night was the first time in twenty-four months they didn't have nightmares."
He paused, leaning closer. "Their current nanny, Chloe, has been relieved of her duties. I want to hire you as Emma and Lily’s primary private caregiver. You will live here, or commute as you prefer. Salary will be ten thousand dollars a week, full health insurance for you and your mother, and a private vehicle provided."
Valerie gasped. Ten thousand dollars a week? That was more than she made in an entire year scrubbing floors. It would pay off her mother’s medical debts in two months, fix their lives, and give them total security.
But as she looked at Franklin’s striking, powerful face, she remembered the green tin box under her mother’s bed. She remembered her aunt Sarah, who died abandoned in a charity ward because of a Buchanan.
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"Why me?" Valerie asked, her voice dropping into a skeptical murmur. "You don't know anything about me. I'm a maid from East New York."
"I know my daughters trust you," Franklin replied, his gaze unwavering. "And in my world, Ms. Cole... trust is worth far more than ten thousand dollars a week."
