Chapter 3 - The Gathering of Hypocrites
By evening, the mansion was lit brilliantly. Expensive European sports cars lined the circular stone driveway, and the sweet, heavy scent of imported lilies filled the foyer. Patricia was hosting an intimate dinner party for a few select socialite friends and high-ranking business associates—people she loved to impress by flaunting her upcoming status as the lady of the estate.
I remained hidden in the private guest suite adjacent to the security room, freshening up and changing into a dark, tailored suit. My reflection in the mirror showed a man entirely different from the one who had kissed his daughters goodbye that morning. The softness was gone. Replaced by a cold, calculated resolve.
Through the hidden intercom system, I could hear the murmur of laughter drifting up from the grand dining room. Patricia’s voice rang out above the rest, melodic and charming.
“Oh, David is away in Zurich for crucial international mergers,” she was telling her friend, Mrs. Vance. “It’s exhausting, really. He leaves me to manage the entire estate and the girls all by myself. But someone has to keep this household from falling apart, especially with the staff being so unreliable lately.”
In the security room, my chief shook his head in disgust. “Unbelievable.”
“Let her speak,” I said coldly, stepping toward the private service elevator that led directly down to the kitchen level. “People like that always dig their own graves if you give them enough rope.”
Downstairs, the kitchen was a hive of quiet efficiency. Rosa was plating the main course—an elaborate roasted rack of lamb—with absolute focus. Two junior kitchen staff members were moving nervously, visibly intimidated by the high-stress environment Patricia always created during events.
When the elevator doors slid open silently, the staff gasped, turning around in shock. Rosa dropped a silver garnish tong, her eyes widening as she saw me standing there in the shadows of the corridor.
“Sir?” she whispered, stepping forward immediately. “You... you weren't supposed to return until Friday. Is everything alright? Are the girls—?”
I raised a hand gently, stepping fully into the warm light of the kitchen. “The girls are safe for now, Rosa. And I am back early because I needed to see the truth with my own eyes.”
Rosa stared at me, and for a fraction of a second, a flash of profound emotion crossed her face—not shock, but a deep, overwhelming relief. She didn't ask questions; she didn't need to. Her eyes told me she had spent months praying for the moment I would finally see through the illusion.
“They are terrified, sir,” Rosa said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “Every time you left, Miss Patricia... she made sure they knew what would happen if they dared speak a word.”
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“That ends tonight,” I promised, my voice steady. I looked at the silver platter of food resting on the counter. “Rosa, I want you to take this tray out to the dining room yourself. Serve it with your usual grace. I will be right behind you.”
Rosa hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded firmly. “Yes, sir.”
