Chapter 3 - The Secret in the West Wing
Over the next three days, the tension inside the Caldwell estate became palpable.
Nathaniel had explicitly forbidden Grace from performing any physical tasks, assigning two temp workers to handle the heavy cleaning. However, Grace refused to remain idle. She used her temporary reassignment to focus on administrative duties—cataloging the estate’s extensive art collection, reviewing vendor invoices, and managing the upcoming calendar.
Victoria, infuriated by Nathaniel's defense of Grace, made every effort to make Grace's existence miserable through passive-aggressive demands. She demanded daily line-by-line accounting of minor household expenses, questioned Grace's qualifications, and made subtle comments about how "outdated" the staff structure was.
Nathaniel, meanwhile, was increasingly absent. He spent long hours in his home office in the West Wing—a private sanctuary off-limits to everyone except Grace, who possessed the master keys.
Late on Thursday night, around 1:00 AM, Grace was making a quiet walk through the main floor to ensure the security systems were armed. The house was pitch black, lit only by the faint glow of moonbeams filtering through the high arched windows.
As she passed the corridor leading to the West Wing, she noticed a sliver of light beneath the door of Nathaniel's private library.
Thinking Nathaniel was working late, Grace approached quietly to see if he needed water or tea. But as she drew closer, she heard voices inside. The heavy mahogany door was slightly ajar.
"I tell you, it's taking too long, Father," Victoria's voice hissed from inside.
Grace froze, retreating into the shadow of a marble archway. She held her breath, leaning closer to the gap in the door.
"He's being stubborn about the prenuptial agreement," Victoria continued, her voice stripped of its sweet, aristocratic cadence. It was cold, sharp, and mercenary. "He wants to keep the family trust entirely separate from the corporate holdings. If he doesn't sign the cross-collateralization clause before the wedding, we won't have access to the offshore accounts."
A man's voice responded over a speakerphone—Julian Ashford, Victoria's father, a prominent corporate financier.
"Have you secured the signatures on the third-quarter transfer documents?" Julian asked, his voice crackling slightly through the line.
"Not yet," Victoria replied impatiently. "He keeps those files locked in his primary safe behind the desk. And that damn woman, Grace, is always hovering around. She notices everything. I tried to push her out three nights ago—made her work until her hands were raw, hoping she'd quit or make a mistake I could fire her for—but Nathaniel defended her."
"Then handle her discreetly, Victoria," Julian's voice hardened. "If Nathaniel looks too closely at the foundation's books before the wedding, he'll realize $14 million has already been diverted to our offshore shell companies. That house manager cannot be allowed to pry. Get the safe combination, get the final signature on the merger papers, and let's finish this."
"I'll get it," Victoria said coldly. "He trusts me. He's lonely and tired. A few more weeks of playing the devoted fiancée, and I'll have his signature on everything."
The call disconnected. Grace heard the rustle of papers and the click of Victoria's high heels moving toward the door.
Grace's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She backed away silently, her soft-soled slippers gliding across the carpet without a sound. She slipped into a darkened alcove just as Victoria stepped out of the library, holding a manila folder in her hand.
Victoria looked around the empty hallway, a smirk touching her lips, before heading toward the East Wing suites.
Grace stood in the dark, her pulse racing. The situation was far worse than she had imagined. Victoria and her father were not just embezzling from the foundation; they were setting up a complete hostile takeover of Nathaniel’s personal wealth and corporate empire, using the upcoming marriage as a cover.
And worse, Victoria had admitted out loud that she had deliberately tortured Grace to get her out of the way.
Grace returned to her room, her mind racing. She knew she couldn't simply go to Nathaniel with this story. Without undeniable physical proof, it would sound like a bitter maid trying to sabotage her employer's marriage out of vengeance. Victoria would spin it, Nathaniel would be caught in the middle, and Grace would be fired—or worse, legally ruined.
She needed hard evidence. She needed the actual bank transfer receipts and the encrypted ledger files stored in the West Wing safe.
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Grace looked down at her hands. The bandages were smaller now, exposing the tender, new skin beneath. Her hands still hurt, but the anger inside her burned much hotter than the pain.
She walked to her desk, took out her master key card, and began planning her move.
