Chapter 10 - Victoria's Perfect Little Trap|
Victoria's office occupied the top two floors of a glass building overlooking Madison Avenue. The lobby displayed framed photographs of charity galas, fashion launches, and philanthropic awards. Every surface shone as if the building had been designed to erase fingerprints.
Clara had entered through those doors dozens of times.
She had never walked in without a box of documents, a list of instructions, or an apology ready in case Victoria found something wrong.
Today, she came with Helen Park.
Victoria stood behind her desk, wearing a cream suit and a smile that looked professionally installed.
“Clara. I see you've brought legal representation.”
“I'm communicating through my attorney, as I said.”
Victoria's eyes moved to Helen.
“I'm sure this is unnecessary. Clara has always been a valued member of my staff.”
“Then this should be straightforward,” Helen replied. “We need copies of her employment agreement, payroll records, expense deductions, and any foundation-related documents she was asked to handle.”
Victoria's smile tightened.
“Why foundation records?”
“Because Clara's name appears on a scholarship document she says she never received.”
For the first time, Victoria's composure faltered.
Only for a second.
Then she laughed.
“That sounds like a misunderstanding. The foundation has helped many young people. Records from years ago aren't always perfect.”
“Then you won't object to preserving them,” Helen said.
“Of course not.”
“Please confirm that in writing.”
Victoria looked at Clara.
“You've changed.”
Clara remained still.
“No. I just stopped assuming that being polite means accepting everything.”
Victoria's eyes hardened.
“You owe me a great deal. I gave you a job when no one else would. I was patient with your mistakes. I let you attend events you could never have afforded on your own.”
“You told me to attend the gala because you needed someone to carry your bags.”
“I gave you an opportunity.”
“You gave me a dress code and thirty-eight minutes.”
Helen placed a document on the desk.
“This is a request to preserve all relevant records. It isn't an accusation. Please acknowledge receipt.”
Victoria glanced at it without touching it.
“Clara, you don't understand how these things work. If you turn a routine employment issue into a public scandal, you'll damage your own reputation.”
“Then let the records speak.”
Victoria's gaze shifted toward the door.
A man in a charcoal suit entered carrying a folder. Clara recognized him from the gala—the man who had watched the lobby through the glass doors.
Victoria's face relaxed.
“Mr. Vale. I didn't expect you so early.”
Richard Vale smiled at Clara.
“Miss Bennett. We've met before, haven't we?”
Clara felt the old memory rise: tobacco, peppermint, her mother's tense voice, a blue ledger.
“Yes,” she said. “You came to our apartment when I was a child.”
Vale's smile held.
“I'm afraid I don't remember.”
“My mother did.”
“Your mother was a troubled woman.”
Helen immediately stepped forward.
“Mr. Vale, please direct any substantive questions through counsel.”
“Certainly.” He placed his folder on Victoria's desk. “I only came to help resolve a misunderstanding. The foundation's records are complicated. Clara may have encountered documents without understanding their purpose.”
“Are you saying she falsified them?” Helen asked.
“Not at all. I'm saying she may have misunderstood what she was asked to do.”
Clara looked at the folder.
A photograph was sticking out from beneath the cover. She could see the corner of a familiar document: the scholarship form bearing her name.
Vale noticed her looking and slid the folder closed.
“Some of the records contain private information,” he said. “It would be unfortunate if they circulated without context.”
“Then preserve them,” Helen replied.
Vale's expression cooled.
“Of course.”
Victoria moved behind her desk.
“Clara, if you simply return the materials you took from my office, we can end this today.”
“I didn't take any materials.”
“Your access logs say otherwise.”
Helen's eyes narrowed.
“Then please provide the logs.”
Victoria hesitated.
Clara understood the trap now. They wanted her to deny something that could be contradicted by a manufactured record, then use the contradiction to discredit her.
“I won't debate allegations without evidence,” Clara said. “Please send everything to my attorney.”
She turned toward the door.
Vale's voice followed her.
“Your mother made the same mistake. She believed the truth would protect her.”
Clara stopped.
Helen touched her arm, warning her not to react.
But Clara turned anyway.
“What happened to my mother?”
Vale's expression became almost sympathetic.
“She trusted the wrong people.”
“Did you threaten her?”
“I offered her a way out of a difficult situation.”
“What situation?”
He smiled faintly.
“Ask Dante Moretti. He knows more about that night than he's telling you.”
Clara felt the floor shift beneath her.
Vale opened the door for them.
“Be careful, Miss Bennett. Powerful men can make you feel protected right up until they decide you're inconvenient.”
Outside, Helen waited until the elevator doors closed.
“He wanted you to lose your temper,” she said.
“I know.”
“And he wanted you to suspect Dante.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then don't let him choose your next move.”
Clara stared at the descending floor numbers.
She had gone to Victoria's office expecting denial.
Instead, she had found a man who knew her childhood, recognized her mother, and spoke about a mysterious night as if he had been there.
When the elevator opened, Clara's phone vibrated.
A new message had arrived from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph of a blue ledger.
May you like
Below it were six words:
DANTE WAS THERE WHEN SHE DIED.
