Chapter 3 - The Interrogation
The heavy service door swung inward with a soft pneumatic hiss, and the taller of the two suited men stepped into the dim corridor. His tailored black jacket was slightly rumpled at the lapel, betraying the nervous sweat dampening his shirt collar. He looked down at me with cold, professional detachment, his eyes scanning the apron where my hands were instinctively folded over the hidden brass tag.
"Stand up," he instructed, his voice dropping into a low, flat register designed not to carry into the grand rooms beyond.
I straightened slowly, keeping my posture rigid and submissive, exactly the way a maid was expected to behave when addressing security personnel. I kept my chin tucked down, refusing to meet his hard gaze, letting him assume my trembling was nothing more than the residual shock of a frightened domestic worker who had wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time.
"How did she get past the lower gallery?" he demanded, stepping closer so that the scent of cedarwood and stale coffee washed over me. "The morning security sweep was completed at six sharp. No children belong in the main residential wing before noon."
"The service lift," I replied, forcing my voice to sound small and shaky, perfectly calibrated to match his expectations. "The latch on the pantry level didn't catch properly during the breakfast prep. I turned around for a moment to check the tea urn, and she slipped out before I could stop her. I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."
The man studied me for a long, agonizing moment, his dark eyes searching my face for any sign of defiance or deception. In this house, a maid who looked you in the eye was a maid with an agenda. I kept my expression blank, my breathing shallow, channeling every ounce of fear I had felt in the living room into a convincing performance of pure, unadulterated subordination.
"If the master sees her wandering around his quarters again, you won't just lose your position," the guard said quietly, leaning in close enough that I could see the fine grain of his shaved jawline. "You'll be escorted off the property before the ink dries on your final pay voucher. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir. Perfectly clear," I murmured, staring fixedly at the polished silver tie clip pinned to his chest.
He grunted in dissatisfaction, casting one last suspicious glance at Sophia, who sat quietly on a wooden bench nearby clutching her teddy bear. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode back down the corridor, the heavy door clicking shut behind him with a finality that sent a chill straight down my spine.
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I let out a long, shaky breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My knees felt weak, and I had to lean back slightly against the cool plaster wall. That lie had bought us a temporary reprieve, but it had also created an official paper trail within the estate's internal logbooks. By blaming a faulty latch on the service lift, I had given security an excuse to lock down the domestic quarters even tighter. Every exit was now a potential trap.
I reached slowly into my pocket, my fingers brushing against the cold, jagged edge of the brass ID tag. The stamped numbers were etched deep into the metal, impervious to the polished lies told in the hallways. If security checked the Rottweiler's collar during the afternoon feed, they would realize it was missing immediately. The clock was ticking down faster than I could calculate, and the sunlit luxury of the mansion felt less like a home and more like the interior of a locked vault.
