By order of the billionaire’s mother, all the maids in their mansion had to keep their faces covered and never remove their scarves in front of her son. For a long time, the man could not understand the reason for this strange rule, until one day he tore the scarf from one of the maids and saw what his mother had been hiding from him all this time 😳

Elizabeth’s version of Victor’s final letter occupied six pages and said almost nothing. It praised Marco’s judgment, expressed regret about past disagreements, and instructed him to preserve Bellwether “as a monument to the family’s endurance.” It contained no mention of Lena Ruiz, the west wing, or the fire.

“He wrote this himself?” Marco asked.

“He dictated it to his attorney.”

“Which attorney?”

“The one who prepared it.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

Elizabeth closed the folder. “You’ve become difficult.”

“I was always difficult.”

“No. You were obedient until you discovered you could buy other people’s obedience.”

Marco leaned across the desk. “Who is Mara?”

Elizabeth’s face remained still, but her left hand tightened around the edge of the folder. “A temporary employee.”

“She says her mother disappeared after receiving a letter from this house.”

“People disappear for many reasons.”

“Did you send the letter?”

“No.”

“Did Father?”

“Your father sent letters to everyone. Most of them were threats.”

“Was Lena Ruiz his employee?”

Elizabeth stood. “You’re not entitled to rummage through old grief because a stranger wrote you a melodramatic note.”

“I’m entitled to know why a missing woman’s name is in your house records.”

“You’re entitled to nothing until the trust is transferred.”

That afternoon, Marco searched the servants’ quarters. The rooms were small but immaculate, arranged along the basement corridor beneath the kitchen. There were six bedrooms, though Elizabeth had told him only four maids worked at Bellwether. Every door had a brass number instead of a name.

He found Mara in the linen room, folding sheets with military precision.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

“That’s become everyone’s favorite sentence.”

“Because you keep going places you shouldn’t.”

“You said your mother disappeared. Why take a job here?”

Mara continued folding. “Because the police stopped looking.”

“And you thought you could solve it by washing my mother’s towels?”

“I thought I could get close enough to learn who sent the letter.”

“Did you?”

“Not yet.”

“You have access to every room.”

“No. Elizabeth has access to every room.”

Marco picked up a folded sheet. “Why hide your face?”

“The scarf is part of the uniform.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Mara looked toward the narrow window. “Some women who work in houses like this have been photographed, followed, recognized by men who wanted to find them. Elizabeth says the scarves give us privacy.”

“Does she believe that?”

“Sometimes.”

The answer stopped him. “And the rest of the time?”

“The rest of the time, they give her power.”

Mara reached beneath a stack of towels and withdrew a brass key. “I found this in my mother’s apartment. It was taped inside the locket.”

The key was old, its bow stamped with a tiny bell.

“What does it open?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“You should have told me.”

“I met you yesterday.”

“You left me a note.”

“I left you a warning.”

“You wrote that my mother isn’t my mother.”

Mara’s head snapped up. “I did not.”

Marco took the paper from his wallet and placed it on the table. Her eyes moved across the lines.

“This isn’t my handwriting,” she said.

“You signed it L.”

“I signed nothing.”

Someone screamed in the kitchen.

They ran together. A tray had crashed onto the tile. One of the veiled maids lay against the pantry door, clutching her wrist. The oldest maid, June, stood over her, breathing hard.

“What happened?” Marco asked.

June looked at Mara. “She saw the west corridor.”

“That’s it?”

The injured maid shook her head. Her scarf had slipped, exposing a jagged burn that ran from her jaw to her collarbone. She pulled the fabric back into place.

Elizabeth appeared behind Marco. “Everyone back to work.”

“She’s hurt.”

“She’ll be treated.”

“By whom?”

“By someone qualified.”

The injured maid stared at Marco. Her eyes were frightened, but not of the injury. She pointed toward the ceiling and mouthed two words.

They’re listening.

That night, Marco found a miniature microphone beneath the desk in his room. It was wired into the antique telephone. He carried it to Darius’s office.

“Did my mother install this?”

Darius studied the device. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“The house had a surveillance system before I arrived.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I’m asking now.”

“Your mother wanted to know who entered the west wing.”

“Who has entered?”

Darius looked at him. “You. Mara. And June.”

“How do you know?”

“Because someone has been erasing the recordings.”