Chapter 8 - The Stolen Goods
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The following afternoon, I stood in the massive guest bedroom where Chloe had been storing her belongings ahead of our wedding. Dozens of designer suitcases and boxes were piled in the corner, waiting to be shipped back to her parents' house.
Hector stood beside me, holding a clipboard, while two of his trusted security personnel systematically unpacked and cataloged every single item in the room.
"We are looking for anything unusual," Hector instructed his team. "Check the linings of the bags, the false bottoms of the jewelry cases. Everything."
I watched in tense silence as they went through her exorbitant collection of shoes, dresses, and cosmetics. For a woman who claimed to love me for my personality, her luggage suggested a profound devotion to my credit card.
"Mr. Vance," one of the security guards called out from the corner of the room.
He had just opened a heavy, vintage leather makeup case that had been buried beneath a pile of silk scarves.
I walked over. Inside the case, tucked neatly beneath a velvet divider, was a small, familiar velvet jewelry box. Beside it was a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills wrapped in a rubber band, and a sealed bottle of imported French perfume.
I picked up the velvet box and flipped it open. Inside sat the diamond drop earrings Chloe had claimed were stolen two weeks ago.
"She planted them," I whispered, the sheer, calculating malice of the act washing over me.
"She manufactured the thefts to frame Marisol," Hector deduced, looking at the items. "She hid the 'stolen' goods in her own luggage, planning to either wait for you to fire the housekeeper or 'discover' them in Marisol's quarters later."
"But why?" I asked, my frustration mounting. "Why go through this elaborate charade just to get a maid fired?"
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Hector’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, reading a long text message from one of his private investigators. His expression darkened instantly.
"I think my team just found the answer to that question, sir," Hector said grimly, looking up from his screen. "And it has nothing to do with the housekeeper."
