Chapter 8 - The Floor the Maid Was Never Allowed to EnterThe penthouse had forty-seven rooms.
Emily had cleaned thirty-nine of them.
Eight were kept locked.
Margaret called them storage.
Emily had never questioned it.
Questioning locked doors was not included in her wages.
Now Adrian held the black key card.
“Where is the hidden floor?”
The suited man pointed toward the private elevator.
“One level below.”
Margaret immediately spoke.
“No.”
Adrian turned.
“No?”
“You cannot go down there.”
“Why?”
“Because your grandfather ordered it sealed.”
Emily looked at her.
“My mother was there.”
Margaret said nothing.
Emily stepped closer.
“What happened to her on that floor?”
“I don't know.”
“You always know just enough to protect yourself.”
Margaret flinched.
Emily continued.
“You knew about the penthouse.”
“You knew about the properties.”
“You knew about the debt.”
“You knew my mother's name.”
“You hired me.”
“But somehow, every time the truth becomes criminal, you suddenly know nothing.”
Margaret's composure shattered.
“You think poverty makes your mother innocent!”
Emily froze.
Adrian stared at Margaret.
The older woman's breathing became uneven.
She had finally said what she believed.
Margaret continued.
“You think because she wore a uniform, she couldn't manipulate people.”
Emily's face hardened.
“No.”
She pointed toward herself.
“I think people like you count on the uniform making her easier to blame.”
Silence.
Adrian looked at Emily.
She continued.
“When rich people hide money, it's complicated finance.”
“When workers make mistakes, it's theft.”
“When rich families lie, it's protection.”
“When a maid tells the truth, it's resentment.”
Margaret's eyes filled.
Emily stepped closer.
“That's how your world stays clean.”
She looked down at the broken tea set.
“People like my mother are forced to scrub the stains.”
Adrian turned toward the elevator.
“We're going down.”
Margaret's voice cracked.
“Adrian, don't.”
He looked back.
“Give me one reason.”
She did.
“If you open that floor, you may find proof that Emily's mother was paid.”
Emily's heart stopped.
“For what?”
Margaret looked at her.
“To disappear.”
Emily said nothing.
Margaret continued.
“Your mother accepted money three days before she vanished.”
Emily's eyes filled.
“No.”
“I saw the transfer.”
“Then why did she die poor?”
Margaret's face changed.
Adrian asked:
“Did she die?”
Silence.
Emily looked at him.
The question felt absurd.
Painful.
Impossible.
Margaret lowered her eyes.
Adrian repeated:
“Did Elizabeth Reed die?”
Margaret whispered:
“I never saw a body.”
Emily staggered backward.
For nine years, she had visited a grave.
Bought flowers.
Spoken to a stone.
Adrian placed the black key card against the elevator panel.
A hidden button illuminated.
The doors opened.
Inside, a lower-floor indicator appeared.
Emily stepped forward.
Margaret remained frozen by the staircase.
Then, just before the doors closed, she cried out:
“Emily!”
Emily looked back.
Margaret's face was wet with tears.
“If you go down there, you may learn your mother chose money over you.”
Emily held her gaze.
Then answered:
“And you may finally learn that poor women are allowed to have secrets without automatically being guilty.”
The elevator doors closed.
But seconds later, they reopened.
No one had pressed a button.
Inside sat one object.
A perfectly intact floral porcelain teacup.
May you like
The missing cup from twelve years ago.
And beneath it was a photograph of Emily's mother taken three days earlier.
