Chapter 5 - The Housekeeper's Secret
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The recording was grainy, punctuated by the static hum of an old dictaphone, but the voices were unmistakable.
“She’s starting to ask questions about her trust fund, Mother,” Lachlan’s recorded voice echoed from my laptop speakers. “Her bank sent a confirmation notice to her old apartment.”
“Then you speed up the timeline,” Cordelia’s cold, unyielding voice shot back. “Get her to sign the joint asset management agreement right after the ceremony. Once her signatures are on those documents, she won't be able to touch a single cent without our approval. If she resists, crush her spirit early. Give her chores, degrade her, make her feel completely dependent on your goodwill. Break her down before she looks at the books.”
A cold sweat broke out across my back.
They had planned to break me systematically from day one. The apron wasn't just a bizarre test of obedience; it was the opening move of a calculated psychological campaign designed to keep me submissive while they looted my assets.
I pulled out my phone, unblocked Bernardet’s personal cell number which she had scribbled on a napkin weeks ago, and dialed.
She answered on the second ring.
“Miss Sarah?” her voice was trembling, filled with background street noise. “Did you look at it? Are you safe?”
“I’m at a hotel downtown, Bernardet,” I said, leaning toward the receiver. “I listened to the recording. I saw the ledgers. Why did you risk giving this to me?”
Bernardet let out a ragged sigh over the line. “Because five years ago, I watched them do the exact same thing to Mr. Julian’s younger sister. They gaslit her, took her share of the estate, and drove her out of the family until she had nothing left. I stayed quiet back then because I needed the job to pay for my daughter’s medical bills.”
Her voice cracked with emotion.
“When I saw Mrs. Montgomery throw that apron at your feet today, and saw Mr. Lachlan just stand there... I knew I couldn’t watch another young woman get destroyed by them. That drive contains twelve years of digitized records I secretly backed up from Mr. Julian’s private safe.”
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“Bernardet,” I said firmly, “there are files on here detailing offshore accounts I can’t decipher. I need to meet you.”
“Not at your hotel,” Bernardet warned quickly. “Cordelia has contacts in the local police department and private security firms. They will track your car if you stay in one place too long. Meet me at the diner near the industrial port in one hour. Come through the back entrance.”
