Chapter 4 - THE TRAP IS SET
For the next twenty minutes, inside Grace’s tiny basement bedroom, the billionaire and the maid sat across from each other at the small wooden desk.
Adrian explained his experiment—how he had grown sick of the false loyalty surrounding him, how he had staged his departure, and how he had uncovered Malcolm Reed's hidden cruelty and financial corruption within the estate.
"Malcolm believes I am thousands of miles away," Adrian stated, his eyes cold as steel. "He is hosting a private dinner here tomorrow night for six major regional investors. He intends to use my absence to soft-launch a fraudulent buyout of Whitmore Global stock."
Grace listened intently, her initial shock giving way to sharp understanding. "He's stealing the company from you from the inside."
"Yes," Adrian confirmed. "And he is using my name to enforce absolute terror among the staff so no one dares report the discrepancies in the inventory."
He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, black encrypted smartphone that had remained off for forty-eight hours. He switched it on, instantly receiving dozens of frantic messages from corporate executives, none of which he answered.
He opened a private secure line and dialed a number.
"Malcolm?" Adrian spoke into the receiver, reverting his voice to a smooth, relaxed tone that disguised his presence nearby.
On the other end, Malcolm Reed’s voice sounded instantly breathless. "Adrian! Good lord, where have you been? We’ve been trying to reach your private transport in London for two days!"
"I took a short personal retreat in the countryside without devices, Malcolm," Adrian lied flawlessly. "I am calling to confirm that I will remain off the grid until Friday morning. Is everything running smoothly at Whitmore House?"
"Perfection as always, Adrian," Malcolm replied glibly over the phone. "The staff is kept under strict discipline. I am managing all estate matters personally."
"Excellent," Adrian said, a dark smile touching his lips. "Keep up the good work, Malcolm. I trust you completely."
Adrian ended the call and looked across the table at Grace.
"He thinks he has two days," Adrian said. "Tomorrow night, during his private dinner with the investors, Malcolm will attempt to finalize the illegal transfer papers."
"What do you want me to do, Mr. Whitmore?" Grace asked, her eyes steady.
Adrian reached out and gently closed her fingers around the brown paper bag she was still holding.
"You were fired an hour ago, Grace," Adrian said softly. "As far as Malcolm and Arthur know, you are gone. But tomorrow night, I need someone inside that dining room whom Malcolm does not suspect—someone who can secure the physical ledger from his briefcase while I make my entrance."
Grace looked at the photo of her grandmother on the nightstand, then back at Adrian. "I'll do it. But not for money, Mr. Whitmore."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Then why?"
"Because," Grace replied firmly, "people like Malcolm shouldn't get to ruin good lives just because they wear expensive suits."
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Adrian stared at her, feeling a profound shift inside his own chest. For years, he had operated under the belief that fear was the only reliable human motivator. Yet here was a woman offering him pure, unselfish loyalty based entirely on principle.
"Very well, Grace," Adrian said, his voice softer than it had ever been in his entire life. "Tomorrow, we tear down the illusion."
