Chapter 4 - The Housekeeper's Secret
I opened the door.
Rebecca stood in the hallway holding a thin black folder.
Her face was composed.
Too composed.
"Come with me," she said.
I didn't move.
"Whatever you have to say, say it here."
Her gaze flickered past me.
She saw Annie.
Then the twins.
Jordan immediately moved behind her.
Rebecca noticed.
The smile disappeared.
"This isn't appropriate in front of the children."
"Then I suggest you choose your words carefully."
Rebecca inhaled.
"Daniel, Annie Reed lied on her employment application."
Annie went still.
I turned toward her.
"Is that true?"
Her eyes met mine.
"Part of it."
Rebecca gave a satisfied little nod.
"There."
"Let her speak," I said.
Annie slowly set Justin down.
"My employment history is accurate."
"Then what isn't?" I asked.
She looked at the boys.
"I didn't tell your agency why I applied specifically to work here."
Rebecca's expression hardened.
I folded my arms.
"Why did you?"
Annie took a breath.
"Because I knew Lauren."
The hallway became silent.
I stared at her.
"Excuse me?"
"Your wife helped my aunt, Margaret Reed, when the senior-care center where she lived was sold."
I searched Annie's face.
"Lauren knew hundreds of people through her foundation."
"Yes."
"But that's not all."
Annie nodded.
"No."
Rebecca stepped forward.
"Daniel, she's manipulating you."
I held up one hand.
"Not another word."
Rebecca stopped.
I looked at Annie.
"Tell me everything."
She swallowed.
"Three weeks before Lauren died, she came to the school cafeteria where I worked."
"Why?"
"She was meeting with the district about the technology grants."
I remembered that program.
Morrison Dynamics supplied learning software to several public-school systems.
The initiative had been Lauren's favorite project.
"She stayed after the meeting," Annie continued.
"She asked me about my aunt."
"Why?"
"Because Margaret had once worked for Morrison Dynamics."
That surprised me.
"In what department?"
"Records management."
"When?"
"Before the company became publicly traded."
I tried to remember the name.
Margaret Reed.
It sounded vaguely familiar.
Annie looked down.
"Your wife told me my aunt might have kept copies of something important."
"Copies of what?"
"She wouldn't say."
"Why not?"
"She thought someone was watching her."
Rebecca laughed once.
A short, contemptuous sound.
"Convenient."
I turned toward her.
"Go downstairs."
"Daniel—"
"Now."
For the first time in eight years, Rebecca looked openly furious.
She left without another word.
I waited until her footsteps faded.
Then I faced Annie.
"Why didn't you tell me this when you started?"
"Because I didn't think you'd believe me."
"Try me."
Annie's eyes filled.
"Your wife died before we could meet again."
She paused.
"And two days later, someone broke into my aunt's apartment."
My stomach tightened.
"What was taken?"
"Her old records."
"Did you report it?"
"Yes."
"Police?"
"They took a statement."
"And?"
"Nothing happened."
I studied her.
"How did you end up here?"
"After Margaret passed away, I found a note among her belongings."
"What note?"
Annie reached into her apron pocket.
She removed a folded scrap of stationery.
The paper was worn at the edges.
On it was an address.
Our address.
Below it, in Lauren's handwriting, were four words.
The children matter most.
I felt the air leave my lungs.
"Lauren wrote this?"
Annie nodded.
"She gave it to Margaret before the accident."
I read the words again.
The children matter most.
Not the documents.
Not the company.
Not the money.
The children.
I sank onto the edge of the guest bed.
"Why would Lauren send you here?"
"I don't know."
Annie wiped her cheek.
"I only knew she had been kind to us."
Her voice broke.
"And I thought maybe helping her boys would be one decent thing I could do for her."
I looked at Jordan and Justin.
They were sitting close together on the rug.
Watching every expression on our faces.
"You didn't come here to investigate?"
"No."
"To steal something?"
"No."
"Then why did you hide your connection to Lauren?"
Annie looked ashamed.
"Because I needed this job, Mr. Morrison."
I waited.
"My aunt's medical bills left me in debt."
She lowered her eyes.
"I couldn't risk being rejected over a story that sounded strange."
I understood the fear.
But understanding was not the same as trust.
"I'll need to verify everything."
"I know."
"And until I do, I can't pretend there are no questions."
She nodded.
"That's fair."
Justin suddenly crossed the room.
He climbed into Annie's lap.
"Please don't send her away."
I closed my eyes.
The sentence was quiet.
But it contained fourteen months of abandonment.
I looked at my son.
"Justin—"
"You always send them away."
His voice cracked.
"The nice ladies."
I froze.
He began counting on his fingers.
"Miss Kelly."
"Miss June."
"Miss Teresa."
He looked at Annie.
"Please don't make Annie disappear too."
I couldn't find an answer.
Annie gently brushed his hair away from his forehead.
"Sweetheart, your daddy is trying to keep you safe."
Justin turned toward me.
"But Annie keeps us safe."
I felt ashamed.
Not because I had employed nannies.
Not because I had needed help.
Because my son believed safety was something his father couldn't provide.
I knelt in front of him.
"Annie isn't leaving tonight."
He stared at me.
"Promise?"
I nodded.
"Promise."
For the first time, he reached for my hand without looking at her first.
I held it carefully.
As though it might break.
Later that night, after the twins fell asleep, I entered my study and called our legal counsel.
I requested a private review of Lauren's final months.
Then I searched the company's employee archives for Margaret Reed.
The record appeared immediately.
Margaret Reed — Senior Records Analyst.
Employment dates: 2006–2015.
Termination classification: administrative restructuring.
Supervisor: Charles Voss.
I stared at the name.
Charles Voss was Morrison Dynamics' chief operating officer.
My closest business partner.
The man who had stood beside me while Lauren's coffin was lowered into the ground.
My phone vibrated.
It was a message from Charles.
Heard you've been asking about old company files. Call me before you do something you'll regret.
I hadn't told Charles anything.
Not a word.
May you like
And suddenly I understood.
Someone inside my house had already contacted him.
