Chapter 8 - The Dismissed Nanny
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The following afternoon, Richard quietly slipped out of the corporate office through a private elevator. He left his phone and his tracking devices on his desk, driving an unmarked sedan deep into the working-class neighborhoods on the South Side of the city.
He parked outside a crumbling brick apartment building, the rain beginning to mist against the windshield. He pulled his collar up and walked to apartment 4B.
He knocked twice.
The door opened just a crack, secured by a heavy brass chain. A pair of tired, terrified brown eyes peered out into the hallway.
"Maria," Richard said softly.
The woman gasped, slamming the door shut. Richard heard the sound of her frantic breathing through the thin wood.
"Maria, please," Richard called out, keeping his voice steady and non-threatening. "I am not here to hurt you. I came alone. I know she fired you. I know she threatened you. I just need to know the truth."
The silence stretched for a long, agonizing minute. Finally, the chain rattled, and the door slowly opened.
Maria looked exhausted. She was a woman in her late fifties, with graying hair and hands rough from years of domestic labor. She stepped aside, allowing the billionaire into her cramped, dimly lit living room.
"She told me if I ever tried to contact you, she would have my son deported," Maria wept softly, wrapping her arms around her chest. "She said she had friends in immigration. She said she would ruin my entire family."
Richard felt a fresh wave of murderous rage wash over him, but he kept his expression perfectly calm.
"She has no power over you anymore, Maria," Richard promised, pulling a thick envelope of cash from his coat pocket and placing it gently on the small coffee table. "This is for your silence, and for your safety. My men will ensure your son's paperwork is expedited through legitimate channels by tomorrow morning. You have my word."
Maria stared at the envelope, tears spilling over her wrinkled cheeks.
"Tell me what she did to my daughter," Richard asked, sitting on the edge of the frayed sofa.
"It started slow," Maria confessed, wiping her eyes. "She would cancel Sophie's playdates. Then she stopped letting her go into the gardens. The week before she fired me, she started locking the kitchen. She told me Sophie needed to learn discipline. She enjoyed it, Mr. Sterling. She liked watching the child cry."
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Maria walked over to a small bookshelf, pulling down a hollowed-out dictionary.
"I couldn't stop her," Maria whispered. "But I knew you wouldn't believe me without proof. So, the day she chased me out of the house... I left my phone recording on the counter."
