Jonathan almost laughed.
It was the first genuinely funny thing he'd heard all morning.
“I can't?”
Derek stopped.
Jonathan looked toward two private security officers Rachel had hired independently.
“Collect their badges, phones and access cards.”
Charles stepped forward.
“This is insane.”
“Maybe.”
“You cannot accuse me of theft because a disgruntled maid invented a story.”
Jonathan became still.
“I never told you what Elena saw.”
Charles froze.
The room changed.
Everyone understood.
Jonathan spoke very softly.
“I said nothing about theft.”
Charles stared at him.
Jonathan took one step closer.
“So tell me, Charles.”
No one breathed.
“What story did Elena invent?”
Charles opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Jonathan looked at Derek.
Then Charles.
Then toward the corridor leading to the rear of the estate.
“The carriage house.”
Derek's face collapsed.
Jonathan saw it.
And suddenly he knew Elena had been telling the truth.
“Open it.”
Charles shook his head.
“Jonathan—”
“Open the carriage house.”
“It contains private records.”
“My private records.”
“You don't understand.”
Jonathan stepped closer.
“Then explain.”
Charles looked toward Derek.
That glance lasted less than one second.
It was enough.
Jonathan turned to Rachel.
“Call the police.”
Charles lunged for the laptop.
Security intercepted him.
Derek ran.
Not toward the front door.
Toward the service corridor.
Jonathan shouted.
“Stop him!”
Two guards chased him.
A crash echoed from the kitchen.
Someone screamed.
Then the rear alarm sounded.
Jonathan stood in the marble foyer listening to footsteps thunder through his house.
His house.
The place he'd believed money allowed him to control.
And for the first time, he understood how little he'd actually known about what happened inside it.
Rachel looked at him.
“What now?”
Jonathan picked up the gray cap.
“Elena.”
“What about her?”
“Find her.”
Rachel nodded.
Jonathan looked toward the hallway where Derek had disappeared.
“And tell her I owe her a job.”
He paused.
“No.”
Rachel waited.
Jonathan looked at the plate on the breakfast table.
Two pieces of toast missing.
Half the fruit gone.
“She deserves more than her job back.”
Twenty minutes later, police opened the carriage house.
The first room contained garden equipment.
The second contained furniture.
The third was locked.
Charles refused to provide the code.
Jonathan did.
Margaret's birthday.
The door opened.
Everyone became silent.
There were no piles of cash.
That would have been too easy.
Instead there were filing cabinets.
Laptops.
Boxes of invoices.
Security equipment.
And twenty-seven sealed envelopes.
Each envelope carried the name of a Blackwood employee.
Jonathan stepped closer.
Sam Whitaker.
Brenda Lewis.