Chapter 9 - The Housekeeper’s Ledger
The pages of the leather-bound journal fluttered open under the harsh beam of the flashlight, revealing columns of dates, financial figures, and detailed notes written in Rosamund’s precise, neat hand.
“Read it,” Chadworth commanded, his voice barely a whisper, though the rage coiling in his chest threatened to shatter the quiet room.
Marcus cleared his throat and began reading aloud, scanning the entries from left to right.
“March 14: Sabina transferred fifty thousand from the primary trust to the shell account. Mr. Prescott remains unaware. Monitored children's reactions—distress levels increasing. Intervened during breakfast to reduce psychological trauma.”
Marcus paused, looking up at Chadworth with a furrowed brow. He flipped the page, reading further down.
“June 22: Sabina attempted to poison the youngest child’s milk with a mild sedative to ensure compliance during evening visits. Intercepted the tray before delivery. Substituted plain milk. Sabina suspects nothing, believes the maid is simply clumsy.”
The basement room seemed to spin on its axis. Chadworth grabbed the edge of the metal desk to steady himself, his mind violently rejecting the sequence of events he had assumed were true.
“Poison?” Chadworth choked out, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. “She was... she was trying to drug my children?”
“And according to these logs,” Marcus said, his voice dropping into a grave, solemn tone, “Rosamund wasn't working with Sabina. She was tracking her. She was building an independent case against her from the inside out.”
Chadworth snatched the journal from Marcus’s hands, his eyes scanning the pages frantically. Every entry revealed a deeper, more terrifying layer of Sabina’s cruelty—and an equally astonishing layer of Rosamund’s quiet, calculated resistance. The housekeeper hadn't been an accomplice or a silent bystander; she had been a counter-operative working undercover inside his home to keep his daughters alive while gathering the unassailable proof the federal authorities needed to bring Sabina down permanently.
And Chadworth had spent the entire morning suspecting her. He had let doubt poison his judgment, nearly playing right into Sabina’s hands by firing the only person who had protected his family.
“Where is she?” Chadworth demanded, slamming the journal down onto the metal table.
“Who, sir?”
“Rosamund! When the federal marshals arrived, where did she go?”
Marcus shook his head slowly. “I haven't seen her since she left the second-floor hallway to clean the east wing.”
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Without waiting another second, Chadworth turned on his heel and bolted out of the subterranean command post, his boots clattering against the concrete steps as he raced back up toward the main floors of the mansion.
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