Chapter 6: The Weight of Evidence
The cold metal of the locker door bit into my shoulder as I stared down at the gleaming silver tureen nestled inside my personal compartment. The trap was so crude, so insultingly obvious in its malice, yet its implications were terrifying. If the estate security team or the local authorities were called down here right now, my word against Mrs. Higgins and the signed checkout logs would mean nothing. In the eyes of the Vance family board, a maid from a struggling local family was an easy scapegoat.
I reached out, my fingers brushing the cool, ornate handles of the French antique. I needed to move fast before Mrs. Higgins executed the next phase of her scheme. Instead of panicking, a cold, sharp clarity settled over my mind. Arthur had given me these keys and appointed me to audit the estate for a reason. He trusted my instincts. I carefully closed the locker door, locked it tight, and slipped the master key ring into my apron pocket.
Instead of hiding in the breakroom, I marched back up the service stairs toward the main administration office. The annual gala was only hours away, and the hallways were already bustling with florists, caterers, and lighting technicians stringing white orchids along the sweeping staircase. Amidst the chaos, I spotted Marcus standing near the grand double doors, flanked by two junior guards. He had been reinstated temporarily for gala security oversight, a loophole Mrs. Higgins must have arranged.
Marcus caught my eye as I walked past. A smug, arrogant grin spread across his face, his posture stiffening as he stepped deliberately into my path. "Looking stressed, Evelyn," he said, his voice dripping with condescension loud enough for nearby staff to hear. "Running an entire estate isn't quite as easy as handing out grapes in the foyer, is it? Some people just aren't cut out for high society."
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"Save the performance, Marcus," I said quietly, keeping my gaze locked directly on his. "We both know whose signature is forged on the vault logs, and we both know who planted that tureen in my locker. The security cameras in the basement corridor record forty-eight hours of continuous loop footage. Shall we ask Mr. Vance to review them together before the guests arrive?"
Marcus's smug expression faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting nervously toward the grand staircase. That micro-expression of panic was all the confirmation I needed.
