Chapter 3: The Kitchen Interrogation
By dawn, the glittering guests were gone, leaving behind half-empty crystal flutes and the faint smell of burnt cedar in the dining hall. I slipped down the back servants' stairs, avoiding the central corridors where Viktor's private security guards patrolled with quiet efficiency. I found Emma sitting at the scarred wooden table in the industrial kitchen, her head bowed into her hands, crying silently into a damp kitchen towel.
I rushed forward, kneeling beside her chair and grabbing her trembling hands. "Emma. Look at me. Did he hurt you?"
She shook her head, her dark hair falling out of its neat bun. "No, ma'am—Evelyn. He didn't touch me. But Mr. Vance's head of security, Miller, spent an hour questioning me in the pantry after the party ended. They asked about everyone who visited the house last Tuesday. They asked about the postmark on the letters from the county home."
A cold sweat broke out across my shoulders. "They know about the letters?"
"I don't know," Emma sobbed, wiping her swollen eyes. "I burned the envelopes like you said, but Miller found the scrap of blue crayon in the wastebasket by my cot. He said lying to Mr. Vance is a federal offense in this house."
"He can't touch you, Emma. You're an employee, not a conspirator. I take full responsibility."
"You don't understand what he does when people cross him, Evelyn," Emma whispered, her voice dropping to a terrified hiss as footsteps echoed on the stone flags outside the kitchen door. "He doesn't just fire people. He makes them vanish from this city entirely. If he finds out where your little boy is living—if he finds out you've been sending money to that foster family in West Chester—he'll destroy them too."
Before I could answer, the heavy oak kitchen door swung open. Miller stepped inside, his broad shoulders filling the frame, wearing a sharp gray suit that looked entirely out of place among the copper pots and baking racks. He didn't look at Emma; his eyes locked entirely onto me.
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"Good morning, Mrs. Vance," Miller said, his tone dangerously polite. "Mr. Vance requests your presence in the study immediately. He says it's time to discuss the logistics of your upcoming trip to West Chester."
The room spun. Viktor hadn't just suspected my secret; he had mapped out my escape route before I had even managed to draw the curtains.
