Chapter 2 - The Logic of the Laundry Room
The door opened almost instantly, as if Rosa had been standing right behind the wood, waiting for the executioner’s axe to fall.
She had changed out of her crooked robe into her gray working uniform, her dark hair pulled back into a tight, severe bun that made her pale face look even thinner. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her hands trembling as she held a small stuffed bear against her apron. Behind her, through the half-open door of the small bedroom, Ethan could see Sophia sleeping beneath the cloud blanket, her little thumb tucked into her mouth, completely unaware of the storm she had unleashed.
“Mr. Whitmore,” Rosa whispered, her voice cracking with the raw, heavy terror of a mother who expected to be thrown out onto the highway before dawn. “I am so sorry. I didn't know. I swear to God, if I had known Sophia was seeing people in the house, I would have stayed with her every second. Please don't fire me. I have nowhere to take her, Mr. Whitmore. My sister’s place in Cicero is full, and my husband—he took everything—”
“Rosa,” Ethan said, his voice dropping into a gentle, low register that Camille had never heard him use with an employee. “Calm down. You aren't being fired.”
Rosa stopped, her breath catching in her throat, her dark eyes looking at him with a mixture of hope and profound disbelief. “I’m… I’m not?”
“No,” Ethan said. “But I need you to tell me the truth. Every word of it. When did you first see that man in this house?”
Rosa looked past Ethan’s shoulder toward Camille, who was standing ten feet away, her arms crossed over her chest, her face dark with an expression that would have terrified a woman with less at stake than Rosa.
“She doesn't work for you tonight, Rosa,” Ethan said, stepping slightly to the right to block Camille from the housekeeper’s line of sight. “She works for no one in this building. Look at me. Did you see him?”
Rosa swallowed, her fingers tightening around the teddy bear. “Three times, Mr. Whitmore. Always on Tuesdays. You always have your regional managers’ meeting downtown on Tuesday afternoons. Miss Camille told me she was having her personal stylist come to the house to fit the bridesmaid dresses. She told me to keep Sophia in the garden or the laundry room because the fabrics were very expensive and she didn't want any dirt near them.”
“And you believed her?” Camille spoke up from behind Ethan, her voice full of a cold, aristocratic venom. “Of course she believed me. She’s a maid, Ethan. She doesn't question the woman who signs her extra bonus checks.”
Ethan did not turn around to look at Camille. He kept his eyes on Rosa. “Did she give Sophia toys, Rosa?”
“Yes,” Rosa whispered, a tear finally spilling over her lashes. “A little wooden bird with wheels. Sophia brought it into the kitchen last week. She said the pretty lady gave it to her for being a good secret-keeper. I thought… I thought Miss Camille was just being sweet to her because of the wedding. I didn't know it was… I didn't know it was about a man.”
“Thank you, Rosa,” Ethan said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, extracting a small, high-security keycard that accessed the private safe in his study. He didn't give her cash; he handed her the card. “Take Sophia. Go down to the guest cottage near the lake. The security guards have already cleared it. Stay there until I tell you it’s safe to come back up. No one enters that cottage except me. Do you understand?”
Rosa took the card, her face shining with gratitude. “Yes, Mr. Whitmore. Thank you. Thank you.”
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Ethan finally turned to face Camille. The woman he had loved for twenty-four months looked smaller now, stripped of the grand context of his wealth and his trust. She looked like a thief who had been caught with her hand inside the lock, her mind already spinning through the legal codes to find a loophole.
“Clause 14B,” Ethan said, the words falling like lead weights between them. “Let’s go talk about Victor.”
