Chapter 9 - The Photograph Taken Three Days AgoEmily could not breathe.
Her mother's face.
Older.
Thinner.
But unmistakable.
The photograph had been printed recently.
Three days earlier.
Emily turned it over.
No message.
No explanation.
Only a date.
Adrian looked at Margaret.
“You knew.”
Margaret shook her head.
“For once, no.”
Emily studied her face.
She believed her.
And somehow that was more frightening.
Someone else had been controlling the secrets.
Someone with access to the penthouse.
Someone who knew Emily was here.
Someone who knew about the tea set.
Emily looked toward the secondary suited man.
He had returned to his place near the doorway.
Quiet.
Watching.
Adrian noticed her expression.
“Who are you?”
The man answered:
“I was employed by your grandfather.”
“That wasn't my question.”
The man looked toward Emily.
“I protected Elizabeth after she disappeared.”
Emily's knees weakened.
“Where is she?”
“I don't know anymore.”
“Don't do that.”
Her voice cracked.
“Don't stand there in a suit and tell me another rich-person version of ‘it's complicated.’”
The man lowered his head.
Emily continued.
“Is my mother alive?”
“Yes.”
The word destroyed her.
She covered her mouth.
For nine years, she had grieved.
For nine years, she had blamed illness.
Circumstance.
Poverty.
Fate.
Now someone told her that Elizabeth had been alive somewhere while Emily worked double shifts.
Adrian stepped closer to support her.
Emily moved away.
Not because she blamed him.
Because she no longer wanted to be held up by anyone connected to this family.
“Why didn't she contact me?”
The man remained silent.
Emily shouted:
“Why?”
He looked at Margaret.
Then at Adrian.
Finally back at Emily.
“Because she believed contact would put you in danger.”
Emily laughed through tears.
“Danger from who?”
The man did not answer.
Margaret whispered:
“My husband.”
Adrian stared at her.
“My supposedly dead father.”
“Yes.”
Emily looked at Margaret.
“And you hired me anyway.”
Margaret began crying.
“I thought Elizabeth was dead.”
“You still brought me into this house.”
“I wanted to know what she had told you.”
Emily's face collapsed.
There it was.
Not kindness.
Not guilt.
Investigation.
Margaret had hired her because she was afraid.
Emily wiped her tears.
“You watched me clean your house while wondering whether my mother had given me evidence against you.”
Margaret said nothing.
Emily continued.
“And when you realized I knew nothing, you treated me like garbage because it was safe.”
Adrian looked at his mother with disgust.
Margaret whispered:
“Yes.”
The honesty came too late to feel noble.
Emily turned toward the photograph.
Her mother was alive.
The power balance had changed again.
Then Adrian's phone rang.
Same unreadable caller.
He answered.
Listened.
His face went completely still.
“Are you certain?”
A pause.
“Understood.”
He ended the call.
Margaret's fear returned.
Emily asked:
“What now?”
Adrian looked at her.
“The final property audit is complete.”
“And?”
He stepped closer.
“The penthouse belongs to you.”
Emily stared at him.
Margaret closed her eyes.
Adrian continued.
“So do the six other buildings.”
Emily's lips parted.
“What about the debt?”
His answer silenced the room.
“There is no debt.”
Margaret looked up sharply.
Adrian's voice became cold.
“It was invented.”
Emily turned toward Margaret.
“By who?”
Adrian looked toward the man at the doorway.
But he had disappeared.
Only the door remained open.
May you like
And on the floor where he had stood was the last intact porcelain cup.
Still warm.
