Chapter 9 - Poisoned Whispers
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Watching Evelyn Vance crumble in the hallway was the last straw for Camille Kensington. While Damon was called into his private study an hour later for an emergency conference call with his European shipping directors, and Evelyn retreated to the conservatory to compose herself, the mansion became a ticking time bomb.
I took Sophie upstairs to the West Wing nursery so she could take her morning nap after her tumultuous morning. Once her breathing turned deep and even, I stepped out into the corridor to ask one of the maids for fresh towels—only to hear hushed, frantic voices coming from the linen alcove at the end of the hall.
I pressed my back against the mahogany paneling, inching closer until I could see through the crack of the half-open door.
Camille was standing inside the dim room facing Martha, the stern head housekeeper who had made my life a living hell during my three months on the staff. In Camille’s hand was a thick white envelope stuffed with hundred-dollar bills and a velvet jewelry box I recognized immediately from the mansion’s high-security inventory logs.
"Are you sure the cameras in the West Wing hallway are turned off during the morning cleaning rotation?" Camille whispered fiercely.
"Yes, Ms. Kensington, just like always between ten and eleven," Martha replied greedily, tucking the cash envelope deep into her apron pocket. "But this is the late Mr. Vance’s anniversary emerald necklace. It’s worth half a million dollars! If Mr. Damon finds out I took the combination to the safe from Mrs. Evelyn’s desk—"
"He won't find out anything if you do exactly as you're told!" Camille hissed, shoving the green velvet box into Martha’s hands. "Wait until that little gold-digger goes down to the kitchen to warm up the brat’s milk. Slip into the suite and cut open the seam of that disgusting stuffed elephant the child carries everywhere. Shove the emerald inside the stuffing and sew it back up."
My hand flew over my mouth to stifle a gasp. My blood ran ice-cold in my veins.
"Before the doctor can bring those DNA results at five o'clock, I want Elena hauled out of here in handcuffs for grand larceny," Camille continued, a cruel smile twisting her painted lips. "Even if the child turns out to be Damon’s, no judge in New York will let a convicted felon raise a Vance heir. Evelyn will take custody, Damon will realize the girl is trash, and you’ll have enough money to retire in Florida."
"Consider it done, ma'am," Martha muttered.
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I didn't wait to hear another word. Moving silently in my soft flats, I slipped back toward the West Wing suite, my heart pounding like a war drum against my ribs. Four years ago, I had run away from powerful enemies because I was young and terrified.
Looking down at my sleeping daughter on the canopy bed, a fierce, cold resolve settled into my bones. Nobody was going to use my child as a pawn ever again. Instead of hiding the toy, I picked up the house phone and dialed the private extension to Damon’s study.
