Chapter 8 - ALLIES IN THE SHADOWS
That afternoon, under the guise of fetching fresh linen from the downstairs utility closet, Willa slipped through the rear service corridors of the mansion.
She needed information. She couldn't fight Sterling and Whitfield blind, and she couldn't rely solely on her own observations. She needed to know who in this fortress remained loyal to Everett—and who belonged to Sterling.
Near the back kitchens, she found an elderly woman scrubbing copper pots at the industrial sink.
It was Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, who had served the Kane family for over thirty years. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her face was lined with deep, sorrowful wrinkles.
“Mrs. Gable,” Willa said softly, stopping a few feet away.
The old woman froze. She turned off the faucet, wiped her hands on her apron, and looked around nervously before meeting Willa’s eyes.
“You shouldn't be down here, Mrs. Kane,” Mrs. Gable whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “Mr. Sterling gave strict orders that the domestic staff is not to fraternize with—with the family wing.”
“Sterling doesn't own this house yet, Mrs. Gable,” Willa said, stepping closer, her voice earnest and stripped of all pretense. “And I know you worked for Everett for decades. You knew him before the accident. Before Sterling took over.”
Mrs. Gable’s eyes welled with sudden, unshed tears. She looked away, staring down at the stainless steel sink.
“Mr. Everett was a hard man,” the housekeeper whispered hoarsely. “Fair, but hard. But he wasn't cruel. Not like his cousin. When my grandson needed surgery three years ago, Mr. Everett paid the hospital bills out of his own pocket before I even had the courage to ask.” She swallowed hard. “And now... look at him. Dr. Whitfield visits every night, locking himself in that room, and Mr. Everett just gets paler and weaker by the day.”
“Whitfield isn't treating him, Mrs. Gable,” Willa said grimly. “He’s keeping him under. He’s poisoning him drop by drop.”
Mrs. Gable gasped, bringing a wrinkled hand up to cover her mouth. “Dear Lord... are you certain?”
“I’m a nurse,” Willa said quietly. “And I’ve been keeping records. But I need proof that can’t be easily dismissed. I need to know where Everett kept his private records—his personal safes, backup files, anything Sterling hasn't managed to loot yet.”
Mrs. Gable looked left and right down the empty corridor. She stepped close to Willa, leaning in so her lips brushed Willa’s ear.
“The master study on the third floor,” the old housekeeper whispered. “Sterling sealed it with a digital keypad lock. But Mr. Everett’s personal wall safe isn't behind the paintings like the movies show. It’s in the wine cellar—behind the rack of 1994 Château Margaux. The combination was his mother’s birthday: 04-12-68.”
May you like
Willa’s memory locked onto the numbers instantly.
“Thank you, Mrs. Gable,” Willa murmured, squeezing the old woman's arm gently. “Keep your head down. Protect yourself. Things are going to change around here very soon.”
