Chapter 4 - Unraveling the WebThe weight of Adrian Moretti’s gaze felt heavier than the mahogany desk between us. Standing in the dim, amber-lit study, I realized I was treading on ground that could easily cost me my job—or worse.
"I... I wouldn't presume to know business matters, Mr. Moretti," I said carefully, keeping my hands clasped in front of my apron. "I'm just a housemaid."
"Drop the title, Sophie," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a low, commanding register. "Tonight, you acted with more courage and intelligence than every high-priced executive, lawyer, and socialite in that ballroom combined. I'm asking for your read on the situation. Look at the facts."
I swallowed hard, taking a slow, measured breath. If I was going to speak, I had to be smart.
"Well," I began, hesitant at first before finding my footing. "Miss Evie’s letter mentioned that Vivian offered her twenty-five thousand dollars to leave. That’s a lot of money, but it’s chump change for someone from Vivian's background. Unless... it wasn't Vivian's money."
Adrian raised an eyebrow, encouraging me to continue.
"Unless someone else funded it," I continued, tracing the grain of the wooden desk with my eyes. "And why would anyone care so much about an elderly housekeeper? It wasn't because Miss Evie 'ruined the aesthetic' of the dinner, like Miss Vivian claimed. It was because Miss Evie has been in this house for twenty-eight years."
Adrian’s expression shifted, a sudden realization dawning in his dark eyes. "She knows everything."
"Exactly," I nodded. "She knows your habits, she knows the layout of the estate, she knows who visits, and more importantly... she manages the private archives and historical ledgers of your father's old estate documents kept in the west basement. If someone wanted access to your family’s private corporate holdings—or old acquisition files—Miss Evie would be the biggest obstacle in the house."
Adrian stood up so abruptly his leather chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out into the dark, rain-slicked courtyard where the flashing lights of the departed guests' cars had long since vanished.
"The West Basement archive," he muttered to himself. "It contains the original charter agreements and land titles from when my father built Moretti Shipping thirty years ago. Vance has been trying to invalidate those titles in federal court for six months."
He turned back around, his eyes locking onto mine with a burning intensity.
"Vivian didn't just want to modernize the house," Adrian said, his voice laced with quiet fury. "She was trying to clear out the staff so Vance’s operatives could break into the archive room undetected."
My breath caught in my throat. "And Miss Evie caught them. Or she suspected something was wrong, which is why she refused to leave her post."
Adrian walked slowly back to the desk, stopping just inches away from me. Up close, I realized just how tall he was, and how terrifying his presence could be to anyone standing in his way. But instead of anger, his gaze held a strange mixture of respect and deep, lingering sorrow.
"Evie knew," Adrian whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "She called me yesterday afternoon. She said she felt like she was being watched. She told me to check the seal on the archive door. I... I thought she was just being overly protective, getting old and paranoid."
He slammed his fist softly against the edge of the desk, cursing under his breath. "If I had listened to her yesterday, she wouldn't be in a hospital bed right now."
"She’s strong, Mr. Moretti," I said softly, surprising myself with the boldness of my own comfort. "Miss Evie survived raising you through half the mob wars in Chicago. A stroke isn't going to take her down that easily."
A faint, ghostly smile touched Adrian’s lips—the first genuine expression I had ever seen on his face.
"You're a remarkable young woman, Sophie," he said quietly, studying my face. "Most girls in your position would have taken the twenty-five thousand dollars and looked the other way if Vivian offered it to them."
"I have a family to support, sir," I replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. "And my mother taught me that some things aren't for sale."
Adrian held my gaze for a long, lingering moment before turning back to the manila envelope. He pulled out Miss Evie’s handwritten letter and began to read the final pages aloud, his voice steadying with every word.
“Adrian, my boy,” he read, his tone softening. “If you are reading this, it means my time has run out, or the snakes in your garden have finally forced me out. Do not let them steal what you built. Check the hidden wall safe behind the grandfather clock in the main library. The real documents—the ones Vance and his little socialite puppet are trying to destroy—are inside. Trust no one who wears a smile they didn't earn.”
Adrian’s head snapped up.
"The grandfather clock in the library," he breathed.
May you like
Without another word, he strode toward the heavy study door, pulling it open. The hallway was empty; the security guards were standing watch at the far end of the corridor.
"Sophie," Adrian called back over his shoulder. "Come with me. We're going to the library."
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