Chapter 3 - VIVIAN’S FIRST LIEVivian Cross had stopped crying the moment the door closed.
Detective Morales watched her through the one-way glass and was not surprised.
Some people cried because they were afraid.
Some cried because they were guilty.
Vivian cried because it worked.
In the interview room, she sat with perfect posture, her silk robe replaced by a gray sweater and dark trousers provided by her attorney’s assistant. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were red enough to look wounded, but not swollen enough to look broken.
She had mastered the art of appearing fragile without ever becoming weak.
Her attorney, Nolan Pierce, sat beside her.
He was expensive. Too expensive for a woman whose official income came from art consulting and charity events.
Morales entered with a file.
Vivian looked up.
“Detective, I want to go home.”
Morales sat across from her.
“That may be complicated.”
“My fiancé is confused. He was manipulated by that maid.”
“Emily?”
Vivian’s mouth tightened.
“Yes. Emily.”
“You know her well?”
“She works in the house.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Vivian tilted her head.
“I don’t know her personally. Why would I?”
Morales opened the file.
“Because she says she saw you pour something into Christopher Ashford’s coffee.”
“She’s lying.”
“She also produced a vial.”
“Which she probably planted.”
“Why would she do that?”
Vivian gave a soft, humorless laugh.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Morales waited.
Vivian leaned forward, lowering her voice.
“Emily is obsessed with Christopher.”
Her attorney placed a hand on her arm as if advising caution.
Vivian ignored him.
“She watches him. She notices everything. His schedule, his meals, what ties he wears, what coffee he drinks. I told Mrs. Bell weeks ago that her behavior made me uncomfortable.”
Morales wrote something down.
“You reported this?”
“I mentioned it.”
“To whom?”
“Mrs. Bell.”
“And Mrs. Bell confirmed this?”
Vivian hesitated.
“She may not remember.”
“Convenient.”
Vivian’s eyes flashed.
“I was nearly attacked in that dining room. That woman hit a cup out of Christopher’s hand and accused me like some hysterical—”
“Careful,” Morales said.
Vivian stopped.
Morales slid a photograph across the table.
It showed the vial.
“Do you recognize this?”
“No.”
“Your fingerprints are on it.”
Vivian’s attorney stiffened.
Vivian blinked once.
Then she smiled sadly.
“Of course they are.”
Morales leaned back.
“Of course?”
“I found it yesterday.”
“You found it.”
“In the guest powder room. I thought it was perfume oil or some kind of sample. I picked it up and threw it away.”
“You threw it away under the coffee cabinet?”
“I don’t know where it ended up after that.”
Morales studied her.
“You’re very quick.”
“Because I’m telling the truth.”
“No,” Morales said. “Because you’ve had time to practice.”
Vivian’s smile disappeared.
Her attorney spoke.
“My client has answered enough questions.”
Morales nodded.
“Fine. Then I’ll ask about Victor Ashford.”
For the first time, Vivian looked genuinely afraid.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But Morales saw it.
“Victor is Christopher’s uncle,” Vivian said.
“And?”
“And I know him socially.”
“Phone records show you called him six times last night.”
Vivian’s attorney turned toward her.
She kept her eyes on Morales.
“I was planning a surprise for Christopher.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“A wedding gift.”
“You were already engaged, not married.”
“A pre-wedding gift.”
Morales almost admired the speed.
“Emily claims she heard you say, ‘Victor, I am not going down for this alone.’”
Vivian laughed.
“She misheard.”
“What did you actually say?”
“I don’t remember.”
Morales stood.
“That’s unfortunate.”
Vivian looked up sharply.
“Am I being charged?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I’m leaving.”
Morales gathered the file.
“I wouldn’t book any flights.”
Vivian smiled again.
This time, it was colder.
“Detective, women like me don’t run.”
Morales paused at the door.
“No. Women like you hire people to do it for you.”
She left Vivian in the room.
But Vivian was not alone for long.
Nolan Pierce waited until the door clicked shut before leaning toward her.
His voice was barely audible.
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing.”
“You mentioned Emily.”
“She’s useful.”
“She’s dangerous.”
Vivian’s eyes hardened.
“She’s a maid.”
“She saw too much.”
Vivian looked toward the mirror, knowing someone might be behind it.
Then she smiled sweetly.
“Then maybe she should have stayed invisible.”
Across town, Emily sat in a small clinic room inside the Ashford Estate while a doctor cleaned the cut on her hand.
Christopher stood near the window.
He had not left.
Emily wished he would.
Not because she wanted him gone, but because his presence made it harder to stay composed.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“A little.”
The doctor wrapped the bandage.
“She’ll be fine,” the doctor said. “No stitches needed.”
Christopher nodded.
When the doctor left, Emily stood quickly.
“I should return to work.”
Christopher looked at her.
“Work?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Emily, someone tried to kill me this morning.”
“I know.”
“And you think I want you polishing silver?”
She looked embarrassed.
“I don’t know what else to do.”
For a moment, Christopher saw something in her that made his chest tighten.
She was brave enough to knock poison out of his hand.
But she still believed she had to ask permission to exist in the room afterward.
He softened his voice.
“You’re not in trouble.”
“Mrs. Bell may not see it that way.”
“Mrs. Bell works for me.”
Emily lowered her gaze.
“People like Mrs. Bell decide who gets blamed when rich people need a story.”
Christopher was silent.
There was no accusation in her voice.
Only experience.
Before he could answer, Mrs. Bell appeared at the doorway.
Her face was tense.
“Mr. Ashford, may I speak with you privately?”
Emily immediately stepped back.
Christopher noticed.
“No,” he said. “You may speak here.”
Mrs. Bell’s lips pressed together.
“Very well. The staff is frightened. Reporters are already outside the gate. Some are saying Emily attacked Miss Cross.”
Christopher’s eyes cooled.
“Who said that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out.”
Mrs. Bell glanced at Emily.
“There is another concern.”
“What concern?”
“Given the seriousness of the accusation, perhaps Emily should be suspended until the police conclude their investigation.”
Emily went still.
Christopher turned fully toward Mrs. Bell.
“She saved my life.”
“She claims she saved your life.”
The room dropped ten degrees.
Emily’s face flushed with humiliation.
Christopher’s voice became low.
“Be very careful.”
Mrs. Bell lifted her chin.
“I have protected this house for nearly three decades. I am trying to protect it now.”
“From whom?”
Mrs. Bell did not answer.
“From Vivian?” Christopher asked. “From Victor? Or from the woman who embarrassed them by telling the truth?”
Mrs. Bell looked away.
Christopher studied her, suddenly remembering Victor’s words.
Ask your precious maid what her mother used to do for this family.
He turned to Emily.
“Your mother worked here?”
Emily’s eyes widened.
Mrs. Bell’s face changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
Emily looked between them.
“My mother?”
Christopher spoke carefully.
“Did she ever work for the Ashfords?”
Emily shook her head.
“No. My mother was a nurse.”
Mrs. Bell closed her eyes.
Christopher noticed.
“Mrs. Bell?”
The house manager whispered, “This is not the time.”
“For what?”
She opened her eyes, and for the first time that day, she looked truly afraid.
“For old ghosts.”
Emily’s bandaged hand curled at her side.
“What ghosts?”
Before Mrs. Bell could answer, Christopher’s phone rang.
It was Detective Morales.
He answered.
Her voice was sharp.
“Christopher, keep Emily inside the estate.”
“Why?”
“Because someone just leaked her full name and photo to the press.”
Emily’s breath caught.
Christopher looked through the window.
Beyond the iron gates, news vans were gathering.
Morales continued.
“And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The substance in that vial wasn’t meant to kill you instantly.”
Christopher frowned.
“Then what was it?”
“A paralytic compound. Slow-acting. Hard to detect. It would have made you collapse hours after signing the documents.”
Emily covered her mouth.
Morales said, “Whoever planned this wanted you alive long enough to sign.”
Christopher looked at Emily.
Then at Mrs. Bell.
Then toward the gates where cameras flashed like lightning.
May you like
The attempt had failed.
But the war had begun.
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