Chapter 3 - The Price of Treachery
The rain had turned into a torrential downpour by the time the hospital discharged Noah at 2:00 AM.
Grant drove them back to Holloway House himself in his dark SUV, bypassing the grand main entrance and parking right beneath the private portico of the residential wing. The estate was eerily quiet, the glittering party lights from earlier in the evening long extinguished.
As Grant carried a sleeping Noah up the wide carpeted staircase toward the guest suites, a figure emerged from the shadow of the grand hallway.
It was Mr. Henderson. The estate manager was holding a leather ledger, his face pale and tight with anxiety.
“Mr. Holloway,” Henderson began nervously, smoothing down his dark suit jacket. “I... I heard about the unfortunate event at the gala. I have already drawn up the termination papers for Miss Ellis. Her personal belongings have been packed from the cottage, and I’ve called a private taxi to remove her from the grounds immediately.”
Grant stopped at the top of the landing. He slowly turned around, holding Noah securely against his shoulder. Mara stood two steps behind him, instinctively shrinking back at the sound of Henderson’s voice.
“You packed her belongings?” Grant asked softly.
“Of course, sir. We cannot have staff members causing scenes and ruining high-profile engagements,” Henderson said smoothly, trying to project authority. “Miss Ellis has been a disruptive element for months. In fact, I conducted a quick inventory of the pantry and silver vault after you left, and I suspect she has been misappropriating estate assets—”
“Stop talking, Henderson,” Grant said. The tone was so flat, so devoid of warmth, that the manager’s mouth snapped shut instantly.
Grant looked down at Mara. “Take Noah into the blue suite at the end of the hall. The room is heated, and the kitchen staff left fresh broth and fruit on the sideboard. I will be down in a moment.”
Mara nodded silently, carefully taking her sleeping son into her arms. She hurried down the plush corridor, leaving the two men alone in the dim light of the gallery.
Once the door of the suite closed softly, Grant turned his full attention back to the manager.
“Give me the ledger,” Grant commanded.
Henderson hesitated. “Sir, these are internal household accounting files—”
Grant snatched the leather book directly out of Henderson’s hands. He flipped through the handwritten pages, his sharp eyes immediately picking out the discrepancies: systematically altered wage entries, inflated maintenance fees, and cash deductions labeled under Administrative Withholding.
“Ten thousand dollars a month,” Grant murmured, his eyes scanning the numbers. “You’ve been skimming ten thousand dollars a month off the domestic staff’s payroll for over two years.”
Henderson swallowed hard, a line of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Mr. Holloway, Miss Vaughn authorized those adjustments! She said the staff was overpaid compared to market rates—”
“Miss Vaughn does not own this house,” Grant snapped, slamming the ledger shut. “And neither do you.”
“Grant, please,” Henderson stammered, stepping back as Grant stepped forward. “I’ve served this family for fifteen years! You can’t throw my loyalty away over a maid’s accusation!”
“Your service ended the moment a child starved on my estate while you lined your pockets,” Grant said coldly. “You have twenty minutes to collect your personal items. If you are still on this property at 2:30 AM, I will have the state police arrest you for grand larceny, embezzlement, and extortion.”
“You’re ruining yourself for her!” Henderson hissed, his polished veneer cracking into ugly spite. “The Vaughns will destroy you! Arthur Vaughn controls half your supply chain! You think you can protect that woman and her brat when the board turns on you tomorrow?”
Grant leaned in close, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. “Watch me.”
Ten minutes later, Henderson was escorted off the property by security.
Grant walked down the silent corridor toward the blue suite. He pushed the heavy mahogany door open gently. The room was lit by the soft amber glow of a fireplace.
Noah was tucked beneath a heavy velvet duvet, his pale face resting against crisp cotton pillows. He looked tiny in the massive king-sized bed, but his breathing was deep and peaceful. Mara was sitting on the edge of the mattress, a cup of warm tea resting untouched in her hands.
She looked up as Grant entered.
“Henderson is gone,” Grant said simply. “And the police will be auditing his bank accounts by morning. Every dollar he stole from you and the rest of the staff will be returned with interest.”
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Mara covered her mouth with her hand, a soft sob escaping her chest. “I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Holloway. I felt... I felt like we were invisible.”
Grant walked over, stopping near the hearth. “You were never invisible, Mara. I was just too blind to see what was right in front of me.” He looked at Noah, his expression softening. “Rest tonight. Tomorrow, the real fight begins.”
