Chapter 7: Behind Closed Doors in the East Wing
The heavy oak door of Evelyn's private dressing room clicked shut, sealing out the muted hum of the main house. The room smelled faintly of expensive French tuberose and stale powder, a sharp contrast to the damp chill of the garden gate. Evelyn stood by her vanity mirror, her fingers trembling as she clutched a silk robe tightly around her throat. Her eyes, usually hard and defensive behind layers of expertly applied cosmetics, were red-rimmed and hollow.
She looked down at the heavy paper envelope I had placed squarely in the center of her glass-topped table.
"Where did you find this?" her voice shook, stripped of the haughty authority she had wielded in the ballroom days ago.
"At the service gate, ten minutes after your midnight security sweep," I replied, standing near the door with my hands clasped loosely in front of my black uniform apron. "The courier didn't use the mail slot. They left it where you’d see it first thing when you checked the grounds for your morning jog."
Evelyn didn't reach for the envelope. Instead, she stared at her own reflection, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid hitches. "You shouldn't have come back here, Rachel. Arthur told me you resigned. He said you walked out with your bag before the dessert plates were even cleared."
"Julian asked me to look into a few details," I said simply, keeping my tone strictly professional. "The details led back to your doorstep. Whoever is sliding these notes under your gates isn't an ex-boyfriend looking for a lost trinket, and they aren't a disgruntled fan. They know your security shift rotations down to the minute. They know which doors Arthur leaves unlatched for the linen deliveries."
Evelyn flinched as if I’d struck her. She walked unsteadily to a velvet chaise lounge and sat down, her knuckles white against the dark fabric. "It started three months ago. Small things. Notes left in my private vehicle at the country club. Then photographs of my father's old study. I thought... I thought if I ignored them, they would get bored and move on."
"Extortion doesn't stop because you ignore it," I said, taking two slow steps closer. "It feeds on silence. Who had access to your father's study before the estate went to trust?"
Evelyn looked up, a bitter, self-reproaching smile touching the corners of her mouth. "That's just it. Nobody. Except the lawyers, the accountants, and the board members who signed off on the foundation's initial audit. Julian's firm handled the legal restructure."
The name hung in the heavy air of the dressing room. I let the silence stretch, watching her micro-expressions—the slight twitch near her left eye, the way her breathing hitched on Julian's name.
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"Julian is helping me build a firewall," I said evenly.
"Julian is part of the board," Evelyn whispered, leaning forward into her hands. "And someone on that board wants my shares signed over before the charity gala next Friday. If I don't comply, they release papers that will destroy every public institution my family built."
