Chapter 6 - The Judge's Daughter
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The raw fear in Marta’s voice struck Victor harder than a physical blow. He was a man who commanded fear, who weaponized it against his enemies. But realizing that the terror in his own home was directed at his fiancée, and not him, shook him to his core.
“Then don't trust me yet,” Victor said, keeping his distance to give her space. “Just tell me what you know. Tell me what is happening to my mother.”
Marta’s mouth trembled. She looked at Victor’s dark, searching eyes, searching for any sign of a trap. Finding none, she slowly reached her trembling hand deep into the pocket of her gray apron.
She pulled out three tightly folded, sealed paper packets. She held them out in her shaking palm.
“I saw Miss Audrey in the kitchen three weeks ago,” Marta whispered, her voice barely carrying over the hum of the washing machines. “It was late. She was crushing medicine into Mrs. Sylvia’s vanilla pudding. The next day, Mrs. Sylvia became too sleepy. Her skin was too cold. She could not open her eyes.”
Victor stared at the packets in her hand. “Did you confront her?”
“I am a maid, Mr. Victor,” Marta said, letting out a broken, almost angry laugh. “I looked at the chart the real doctors left. The medicine Miss Audrey used was not there. It was something else.”
“Why didn't you come to me immediately?” Victor demanded, the protective anger flaring in his chest despite his best efforts to suppress it.
Marta stood taller, her fear momentarily eclipsed by a fierce, protective defiance.
“She is the daughter of a federal judge,” Marta stated, her words piercing the air like glass shards. “She is the beautiful, perfect woman you are going to marry. And I? I am a woman who cleans your floors for minimum wage. I have no family here. I have no power.”
Her eyes lifted to meet his, challenging the crime boss directly.
“If I came to you with a story of poison, who would you believe, Mr. Costa?”
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Victor opened his mouth to answer, but the words died in his throat. He had no answer. And the heavy, suffocating silence in the laundry room was answer enough. If Marta had accused Audrey a month ago, Victor would have fired the housekeeper on the spot.
Marta wiped her wet cheek with the back of her hand. “So I say nothing. I save what she gives. I buy my own water. I change nothing. I only help Mrs. Sylvia hide the pills, and I call her real nurse from a payphone when I can.”
