She Blamed the Maid—But His Daughter Had the Recording

Chapter 3 — The Blue Folder

Daniel smiled when Morgan approached him.

“I was going to the hospital.”

“Your brother asked about a folder.”

“He's had a terrible shock.”

“So have several people here. Please stay while we take your account.”

Clara rode to the hospital with Lily and Mrs. Shaw. The girl fell asleep against her shoulder in the waiting room, one hand still curled as though it held the camera.

An hour later, Adrian's doctor said he was stable but would remain under observation. Relief left Clara trembling harder than fear had.

Mrs. Shaw brought her a cup of tea.

“You should let them look at your arm.”

“It can wait.”

“It has waited.”

Clara submitted to having the abrasion cleaned. When she returned, Lily was awake.

“Will they make you leave?”

“No one has asked me to.”

“Vivienne said Daddy would send you away after the wedding.”

Clara sat beside her. “Your father can speak for himself.”

Lily studied the bandage. “You got hurt too.”

“I'm all right.”

The girl leaned against her again. Clara resisted the temptation to ask what else she had heard. The child had already carried enough adult secrets for one night.

By morning, Morgan had spoken to Adrian in the presence of hospital staff. Later, with his permission, he told Clara what the blue folder contained.

Daniel had been managing a family property company while Adrian recovered from an earlier illness. Payments to contractors had continued long after the work supposedly ended. An accountant had found that several invoices led to a business controlled by Daniel.

“I asked for an explanation,” Adrian said. “He brought Vivienne instead.”

“Why her?”

“She introduced the contractor.”

Adrian looked toward the window. He seemed ashamed of something more than having trusted them.

“I told them the wedding was postponed. And that the accounts were going to an independent lawyer.”

Clara remembered the sharp voices upstairs, then the sound that had brought her running. She remembered finding him below the stairs and calling for help. She had seen enough immediately before that to accuse Vivienne, but fear had tangled her English and left her vulnerable to every confident denial.

“Why blame me?” she asked.

“Because they thought nobody would listen to you.”

Adrian looked back at her.

“I should have made sure that wasn't true long before last night.”

There was no answer Clara could give that would undo it.

Instead, she set his water within reach.

“The detective will need everything you remember.”

“This time,” he said, “she'll get it.”