Chapter 8 - The Threat in the Locker
The metallic scraping sound rattled softly down the hallway, sharp and jarring against the quiet peace of the solarium. I gently stood up from beside Eleanor's wheelchair, my instincts instantly on high alert.
"Stay here for a moment, Eleanor," I whispered, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. "I'll just check the corridor."
I walked to the double doors of the solarium and pushed them open. The hallway stretched out, bathed in the late afternoon shadows cast by the tall architectural columns. Nothing moved except for a stray draft drifting in from an unlatched side window. Yet, an uneasy prickle danced across the back of my neck. I hurried down to the staff locker room in the east wing, a private chamber set aside for uniform changes and personal belongings.
The room was dim, lit only by a single amber bulb overhead. I walked toward my assigned metal locker near the corner. As I approached, I noticed something odd: the small combination padlock I always used was dangling open, its metal shackle sprung free. My breath caught in my throat. I pulled the locker door open slowly, the hinges emitting a low, dry squeak.
Tucked right on top of my spare black maid dress sat a square piece of heavy cream-colored cardstock. There was no envelope, just a single line of jagged, block-lettered words cut haphazardly from a magazine headline and glued down with cheap adhesive:
*MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS OR YOU'LL WISH YOU NEVER CAME HERE.*
The crude warning sat there like a venomous insect resting on fabric. My fingers tightened around the edge of the locker door as a cold spike of adrenaline shot through my veins. Patricia might have been suspended, but her loyalists were still inside the walls, operating in the shadows, desperate to intimidate me into silence before the full audit of the estate was completed. They thought a cheap threat would send me running back out the front gates with my tail between my legs. They didn't understand that I had already seen what happened when people stayed silent in this house.
May you like
I pulled the threatening note off the shelf, folded it carefully, and slipped it straight into the pocket of my apron alongside the brass key Eleanor had just given me. I closed the locker door with a firm, resounding *clack* that echoed off the tile walls. I didn't feel fear; I felt an icy, resolute calm settle deep into my bones.
I turned around and walked briskly back toward the main corridor, heading straight for the study. It was time to show Luca that the rot in his mansion ran deeper than missed letters—and that the remaining conspirators were ready to make their final, desperate move.
