“She’ll make you change your mind.”
“No.”
“You don’t know her when you’re gone.”
Nathan felt the sentence like a hand pressing against his chest.
“How is she different?”
Louisa looked at Sofia.
The little girl had become very still.
Nathan waited.
He had built much of his career by knowing when silence was more useful than another question. In conference rooms, people often revealed what mattered because they rushed to fill empty space.
Louisa did not rush.
She seemed to be deciding whether truth was more dangerous than silence.
Finally, she spoke.
“It began after you announced the engagement.”
Nathan sat back.
“More than a year ago?”
Louisa nodded.
“At first, it was little things. She changed my schedule without telling me. She would ask why the flowers weren’t arranged when another person had been assigned to them. She would tell me to prepare a room, then later say she had asked for a different room.”
“Did you document any of this?”
“No. I thought I was making mistakes.”
Her voice lowered.
“She said I was distracted because of my husband.”
Louisa’s husband, Mateo, had died after a sudden illness two and a half years earlier. Nathan remembered the day she applied for the live-in position. She wore a navy dress that was slightly too formal for an interview and held a sleeping Sofia against her shoulder because her babysitter had canceled.
She had apologized three times before sitting down.
Nathan hired her because she was organized, experienced, and honest about what she needed.
Not charity.
Work.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Louisa shook her head.
“After that, she began leaving notes.”
“What kind of notes?”
Louisa stood and walked toward the hall table where her canvas work bag rested. She removed a small spiral notebook held closed by a rubber band.
The cover was bent. Several pages had been folded at the corners.
She handed it to Nathan.
Inside were dates, times, and short handwritten entries.
January 12: Told to move blue vases to morning room. Later accused of removing them without permission.
January 28: Lunch deducted because guest trays were late. Trays delayed by florist delivery.
February 3: Asked to stay after shift. Missed daycare pickup. Paid late fee myself.
February 17: Vanessa said Sophia cannot be in kitchen when guests are present.
March 2: Weekly pay short by $180. Told it was breakage deduction.
March 19: Asked to sign blank vendor receipt. Refused.
Nathan turned the page.
The entries continued.
April.
May.
June.
Amounts withheld from pay. Extra hours. Changed instructions. Accusations. Private meetings. Threats to report Louisa for negligence.
Beside some entries, Louisa had taped copies of grocery receipts and printed text messages.
Nathan stopped at one.
Vanessa: The silver inventory is short again. If Nathan asks, you misplaced the pieces during polishing.
Louisa: I did not polish the silver this week. Mrs. Cole, I do not want to say something untrue.
Vanessa: Then perhaps you do not want this position badly enough.
Nathan read the message twice.
“When was this sent?”
“April.”
“Why didn’t you show me?”
Louisa looked down.
“Because two days later, she told me you were considering replacing all live-in staff after the wedding.”
“I never said that.”
“I know that now.”
Her voice nearly broke on the last word.
Nathan continued turning pages.
A photograph had been tucked near the back. It showed a payroll envelope with Louisa’s name written across the front. Beside it lay six twenty-dollar bills and a typed note.
Uniform replacement fee: $420 deducted.
Nathan frowned.
“Four hundred twenty dollars for uniforms?”
“She ordered three dresses without asking my size. Two did not fit. She said I had wasted the money.”
“Where are the dresses?”
“In the basement laundry cabinet. They still have tags.”
The front door opened quietly.
Walter appeared in the hallway carrying a leather portfolio. He was sixty-two, silver-haired, and so discreet that Nathan’s business partners occasionally forgot he was in the room.
His gaze moved from Nathan to Louisa and then to the notebook.
“What happened?”
Nathan held up the repayment agreement.
“Did you prepare this?”
Walter read the first page.
“No.”
“Did payroll authorize these deductions?”
Walter’s expression changed.
“What deductions?”
Nathan handed him the notebook.
Walter adjusted his glasses and scanned several pages. His jaw tightened.
“I have never seen these records.”
Louisa looked between them.
“Mr. Greene, the envelopes came from your office.”
“Who delivered them?”
“Usually Miss Vanessa.”
Walter closed the notebook.
“I prepare payroll electronically. Your wages should have gone directly into your account.”
Louisa’s face went blank.
“I was told the bank transfer failed because my documents expired.”
“They did not.”
Nathan looked at Walter.
“How long has Louisa been receiving cash envelopes?”
Walter opened the portfolio and removed a tablet.
“Her direct deposit has been active the entire time.”
The family room seemed to shrink.
Louisa gripped the edge of the sofa.