Chapter 5 - The Stolen Locket
The humiliation in the boardroom sent shockwaves through the elite social circles of Chicago. By evening, news had leaked that Harold Bennett had returned to work, stripping his three adult children of their executive powers.
Inside the mansion, the atmosphere was poisonous.
Grant sat in the library, downing his third glass of scotch, while Cole paced nervously near the fireplace. Vanessa sat on the sofa, her phone buzz-buzzing with unanswered calls from high-society friends.
Suddenly, the library door opened, and Brenda—Vanessa’s assistant—stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her.
“What do you want, Brenda?” Vanessa snapped. “Can’t you see we’re trying to figure out how to stop Father from writing us out of the trust entirely?”
“I have something you need to hear,” Brenda said quickly, her voice low. “Last night, I was in the east wing. I heard the new housekeeper—Lydia—talking to her daughter, Clara.”
Grant scoffed. “Who gives a damn about the housekeepers?”
“You will,” Brenda said sharply. “The child wears a silver locket. Lydia told her that inside that locket is a memory chip containing evidence left behind by your late brother, Michael.”
Grant stopped swirling his scotch. He looked up, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Michael?”
“Yes,” Brenda continued. “Lydia said Michael documented evidence of corporate embezzlement in Panama and altered safety reports. She said he kept it so they could use it against the family if necessary.”
Cole turned pale. “Panama? How the hell did Michael find out about the offshore accounts? That was six years ago!”
Grant’s face turned from pale to an ugly, dark red. The pieces of the puzzle immediately clicked in his mind.
“Michael didn’t just quit the company when Father disowned him,” Grant realized, his voice trembling with newfound danger. “He stole corporate records before he left. And now his gold-digging wife has brought those records right into our house.”
“If Father gets his hands on those files,” Cole panicked, catching Grant by the lapels of his jacket, “we aren't just disinherited, Grant! We’re going to federal prison! Embezzlement, wire fraud, falsifying safety documents… we’ll spend the rest of our lives in a cage!”
“Shut up, Cole!” Grant shoved his brother back. He stood silent for a moment, his mind racing through dark, desperate scenarios.
“Where is the girl right now?” Grant asked Brenda.
“She’s in the servant’s quarters with her mother. Lydia is preparing dinner for the staff.”
Grant looked at Cole and Vanessa. “We take that locket. Tonight. Before the old man realizes who they are.”
“And if the mother resists?” Vanessa asked, her voice laced with cold indifference.
Grant picked up his glass and finished his scotch in one gulp. “Then make sure she understands what happens to servants who try to blackmail the Bennett family.”
Later that evening, dark clouds opened up over Lake Forest, pouring heavy, blinding snow across the estate.
Inside the servant quarters, ten-year-old Clara was sitting at her small wooden desk, drawing a picture of the old beggar on a scrap of paper, giving him a big yellow sun above his head.
Suddenly, the door to the room was kicked open.
Lydia gasped, dropping a basket of folded laundry as Grant, Cole, and two mercenary-like private security guards barged into the small room.
“Grant?” Lydia stammered, stepping instinctively in front of Clara. “What… what is the meaning of this? You aren't allowed in the staff quarters—”
“Save it, Lydia,” Grant snapped, walking directly toward her. “Or should I call you Mrs. Michael Bennett?”
Lydia’s heart stopped. She backed up against the wall, reaching behind her to grab Clara’s hand. “I don't know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play stupid with me!” Grant yelled, stepping close enough that Lydia could smell the liquor on his breath. “We know who you are. And we know what Michael gave you before he died.”
Grant signaled to the guards. “Grab the girl.”
“No!” Lydia screamed, throwing her body over Clara as one of the heavy security guards pushed her roughly to the floor. Clara shrieked in terror as Cole reached down, grabbing the silver chain around her neck, and yanked it with brutal force.
SNAP.
The silver chain snapped, leaving red marks on Clara’s neck. Cole stepped back, holding the tiny silver heart in his hand, laughing triumphantly.
“Got it!” Cole shouted.
“Give that back!” Clara cried, tears streaming down her face as she tried to scramble up from the floor. “That belongs to my dad!”
Grant grabbed Lydia by her collar, pressing her head back against the wall. “Listen to me very carefully, you little rodent,” he hissed into her face. “You are going to pack your bags, take your brat, and get off this property tonight. If I ever see your faces in Chicago again, I won't just fire you. I’ll make sure you both disappear.”
Grant shoved her onto the bed, turned on his heel, and walked out, followed by Cole and the guards.
Lydia lay on the mattress, sobbing, pulling the weeping Clara into her arms.
“Mommy, my locket,” Clara sobbed into her mother’s shoulder. “They took Dad’s locket…”
Lydia held her daughter tight, her body shaking with anger and helplessness. But then, as her hand brushed against the pocket of her own apron, her tears suddenly stopped.
She felt a small, hard, rectangular object tucked deep inside the apron lining.
Lydia’s eyes went wide.
Three days ago, fearing that the damp environment of the staff quarters might ruin the digital files, Lydia had removed the tiny micro-drive from the locket and replaced it with an empty micro-SD card from an old camera. The real drive—containing every piece of evidence Michael had gathered—was safe inside her pocket.
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Lydia looked down at Clara, her eyes burning with fierce determination.
“They took the silver, Clara,” Lydia whispered, kissing her daughter’s forehead. “But they didn’t get the truth. Put on your coat, baby. We are going to see your grandfather.”
