Chapter 4 - “YOU KNOW MY NAME. YOU DON’T KNOW ME.”
“I didn’t know she left,” Elena said quickly. “I fell asleep for twenty minutes.”
“Elena.”
She stopped.
“Your daughter is fine.”
Relief appeared first.
Then fear returned.
“Nora, what were you doing?”
“Helping.”
“With what?”
“The shirt.”
Elena looked toward the door.
“Did Mr. Harland see you?”
“Yes.”
That question told me more than I wanted to know.
I sat opposite her.
“Nora said Harland told her your housing depends on you working.”
Elena’s attention snapped toward her daughter.
“What did you tell him?”
Nora’s face crumpled.
“I didn’t—”
“Stop.”
Elena looked at me.
“She didn’t do anything wrong.”
For a while, nobody spoke.
Then Elena sat.
“I’ve worked here four years.”
“I know.”
“You know my name.”
The distinction was deliberate.
“You don’t know me.”
“No,” I admitted.
“Apparently I don’t.”
That surprised her.
Maybe she expected me to defend myself.
“I’m grateful for this job,” she said.
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
“Mr. Harland says we should remember what the estate provides.”
“What else does he say?”
She studied me.
“Are you asking because you’re angry with him today?”
“What does that mean?”
“Everyone knows you have a temper.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because truth often sounds absurd when someone finally says it plainly.
“People don’t know what makes you angry,” Elena continued.
“Why would getting sick make me angry?”
“Because Harland said it would.”
The room seemed to shrink.
He had told staff I didn’t want to be bothered.
That complaints showed disloyalty.
That anyone contacting me directly would have their messages forwarded to him.
The worst part?
Some of that system existed because of me.
I had instructed my assistant to send estate issues to Harland.
I had built the wall.
He merely stood in the doorway.
“Has he threatened you?”
“Not directly.”
“What does he say?”
“Things like, ‘Housing is reviewed alongside performance.’”
Careful words.
Professional words.
Words designed to sound harmless if repeated.
Then Elena showed me something.
Her pay statements.
Every month, six hundred dollars was deducted for her apartment.
I stared at the page.
“How much rent do you pay?”
“Six hundred.”
“I don’t charge staff rent.”
Elena laughed nervously.
“Of course you do.”
“No.”
May you like
The room went silent.
And for the first time, Elena looked more frightened by the possibility that I was telling the truth than by the possibility I was angry.
