Chapter 6 - The Hidden Archive
The room grew smaller. The air thinner. All those months he had told me to rest. All those times he suggested I was overwhelmed. All those concerned looks in public. He had been building a cage and calling it care. I set the papers down with careful precision.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “He expects me to sign.”
Grace nodded. “What will you do?”
For the first time that night, I smiled. It was not a happy smile. It was something colder.
“I will sign nothing.”
Grace let out a breath. “But if you confront him now—”
“I won’t.”
Her eyes widened. “You won’t?”
“No.” I looked toward the ceiling, toward the bedroom where my husband was celebrating my destruction. “If Ethan wants a performance, I’ll give him one.”
Grace studied me, uncertain. I turned back to her.
“Does anyone else know you’re helping me?”
“No.”
“Good. From this moment on, you know nothing. You saw nothing. You were never involved.”
“Mrs. Carter—”
“Grace, listen to me. If Ethan is willing to destroy his wife, he will not hesitate to destroy a housekeeper.”
Her eyes filled again. “I don’t care about losing my job.”
“I care about you losing more than that.”
She went silent. I took the photographs and documents, folded them into the envelope, and tucked it under my apron.
“Where is the security office?”
Grace blinked. “The basement, west wing.”
“Do the cameras still record upstairs?”
“Yes, but Mr. Carter controls the system.”
“Not all of it,” I said.
My father had built this mansion before Ethan ever stepped inside it. He had been a paranoid man, though he called it practical. When I was a girl, he told me, “Never let comfort blind you, Olivia. Every house needs a door only you can open.”
At the time, I had thought he meant it metaphorically. Now I remembered the hidden security archive. A backup system installed behind the wine cellar, accessible only by a code tied to my mother’s birthday. I had never used it. I had nearly forgotten it existed. Ethan, apparently, had never known.
Grace guided me through the service stairs to the basement. We moved quietly past shelves of silverware, storage crates, and locked utility rooms. The mansion above us glowed with music and betrayal. Below, the air was cool and silent. Behind the wine cellar, covered by a decorative panel of dark wood, was a keypad. My hands shook as I entered the date. The panel clicked open. Grace gasped.
Inside was a narrow room filled with monitors and an old backup server. I turned on the system. The screens flickered. Then the house appeared in black-and-white angles. The front gate. The foyer. The living room. The upstairs hall. My bedroom. The image was silent, but clear. Ethan and Vanessa appeared on one monitor. She was wearing my necklace. He was holding my wine. They looked disgustingly comfortable.
I inserted a drive from the drawer beneath the console and began copying the footage. Grace stood beside me, stunned.
“Your father built this?”
“He didn’t trust anyone,” I said.
Then I paused. A memory surfaced. My father’s voice, weak in the hospital. Olivia, there are things I should have told you. About Ethan. At the time, I thought pain medication had confused him. Ethan had been standing near the door. I remembered how quickly he interrupted. “Let her rest, George.” My father died two days later.
May you like
I stared at the loading bar on the screen. For years, I had wondered what he meant. Now I feared I knew. The footage finished copying. I removed the drive and slipped it into my shoe beneath the insole. Then I checked the previous recordings. Grace helped me scroll through the dates. There were dozens. Vanessa entering through the side door. Vanessa drinking in my kitchen. Vanessa wearing my clothes. Ethan kissing her in the foyer beneath my wedding portrait. Ethan meeting Julian in the library. Ethan handing papers to Dr. Fields.
My hands became steady as we copied everything.
