Chapter 4 - The Confession of the MaidThe fire in the grand salon was dying down, casting long, dark shadows across the mahogany walls. Victoria sat collapsed on a velvet sofa, her hands covering her face, while her mother, Evelyn, stood beside her, glaring at Harrison with venomous defiance.
"This is unlawful imprisonment, Harrison!" Evelyn snarled, her voice tight with rage. "You can't keep us locked in here! I will call our legal team—"
"Your legal team won't answer," Aldridge said dryly from the side of the room, looking at his gold pocket watch. "Because as of twenty minutes ago, federal asset forfeiture agents executed three search warrants on your private holding companies in Delaware. Every account tied to the Vance name is frozen."
Before Evelyn could reply, a soft rap sounded at the secondary service door near the pantry corridor.
Harrison walked over, unlocked it, and pulled it open.
Standing in the dimly lit hallway was Martha—the estate’s head housekeeper, who had served the Sterling family for over thirty years. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her aproned hands shaking as she held a small, rusted iron box wrapped in heavy oilcloth.
"Martha?" Harrison asked, his brow furrowing. "What is this?"
Martha looked past Harrison, her eyes locking onto Victoria with a mixture of profound sorrow and righteous anger.
"I couldn't speak before, Mr. Harrison," Martha whispered, a single tear cutting through the wrinkles on her cheek. "I was afraid for my life. For six years, she told me that if I ever said a word, my grandson’s medical scholarship would be canceled and he’d be ruined. But seeing young Master Julian walk through those doors... I can't carry this sin to my grave."
Victoria snapped her head up, her face draining of what little color remained. "Martha, shut your mouth! Don't you dare!"
"Silence!" Harrison roared, his voice echoing off the high ceiling so violently that the glass cabinets rattled. He turned back to Martha, his tone softening slightly. "Tell me, Martha. What do you have?"
Martha stepped into the room, setting the rusted iron box on the oak table beside Eleanor's open will.
"The night Mrs. Eleanor disappeared," Martha began, her voice trembling but steady, "she knew something was wrong. She caught Mrs. Victoria—who was staying in the guest wing at the time—searching through the private safe in the master study. They had a terrible argument on the terrace."
Harrison felt his chest tighten. "I was in Tokyo. It was the week of the Asian port acquisition."
"Yes, sir," Martha nodded. "You were away. Mrs. Eleanor came to me in the middle of the night, terrified. She gave me this box. She said, 'Martha, if I don't come back from Blackwood Bay tonight, hide this under the floorboards in the old icehouse. Do not give it to Harrison until Julian is safe.'"
Harrison reached out, his heavy hands gripping the rusted clasp of the box. It creaked open, revealing several cassette tapes, a stack of handwritten letters, and a small, silver thumb drive.
Harrison picked up the thumb drive, his jaw set in a hard, dangerous line. He walked over to the study desk, plugged it into his laptop, and pressed play on the single video file stored inside.
The screen flickered to life.
The timestamp in the corner read: November 14, six years ago. 11:42 PM.
The video showed the rain-slicked driveway outside Oakridge Manor. A dark SUV was parked near the tree line. In the camera's frame, two men in rain ponchos were lifting an unconscious body—Eleanor—into the backseat.
Standing by the open passenger door, holding an umbrella and directing the men with cold, clinical efficiency, was Victoria.
And beside her, handing a thick stack of cash to the driver, was a man whose face turned toward the camera for a split second before the video cut out.
Harrison stared at the screen. The breath froze in his lungs.
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It wasn't a stranger. It wasn't an unknown hitman.
The man standing beside Victoria in the video was Harrison’s own brother—Carter.
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