Chapter 2
“I scan them into the household folder. Norah usually uploads them.”
Norah had gone pale.
“Usually?”
She swallowed.
“Until February.”
“What changed in February?”
“Evelyn changed the password.”
I looked at her.
Evelyn shook her head.
“The system required an update.”
“But afterward,” Norah said, “I couldn’t submit invoices.”
“Because I took over approvals.”
“You said Finance wanted one point of contact.”
“They did.”
“Who in Finance?”
The question came from me.
Evelyn hesitated again.
“Daniel.”
Daniel Russo.
My household accountant.
He had worked for me for six years.
Not family.
Not part of my outside business.
His job was simple: pay household expenses, maintain tax files, and report anything unusual.
Like $8,400 disappearing.
Which he hadn’t.
I felt something settle into place.
Not certainty.
A direction.
“Call Daniel,” I said.
Evelyn blinked.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
She picked up the phone on the desk.
I stopped her.
“Speaker.”
Daniel answered on the fourth ring.
“Good morning.”
“Daniel,” Evelyn said, “Mr. Moretti is here.”
A pause.
Short.
But noticeable.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Morning.”
I opened the Bellini folder.
“I’m reviewing household expenses.”
“Of course.”
“Why were Bellini Stoneworks invoices paid after we stopped using them?”
Silence.
Then paper rustling.
“I’d have to check.”
“Check.”
More paper.
Keys clicking.
“January sixteen,” I said. “Eight-sixty.”
“Yes.”
“January nineteen. Same amount.”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“February seven and ten. Six-forty each.”
“I see them.”
“Why?”
Daniel cleared his throat.
“They were submitted as separate services.”
“By whom?”
“Household management.”
Evelyn stiffened.
I watched her.
“What documentation came with them?”
“Standard invoices.”
“Send them to me.”
“I can do that.”
“Now.”
We waited.
The administration computer chimed.
Norah opened the email.
Four invoices.
All carried Bellini Stoneworks’ name.
All looked legitimate at first glance.
Evelyn moved closer.
“That isn’t their current letterhead.”
Daniel heard her.
“I only process what’s submitted.”
“By whom?” I repeated.
“Evelyn’s login.”
Norah leaned toward the screen.
“That’s not possible.”
Evelyn snapped, “Why?”
Norah pointed.
“The submission time.”
January 16, 11:48 p.m.
January 19, 12:13 a.m.
February 7, 11:56 p.m.
February 10, 12:22 a.m.
Norah looked at Evelyn.
“You were in Vermont.”
I remembered.
Evelyn had taken ten days off after her sister underwent surgery.
She had been away.
Evelyn stared at the dates.
“Daniel.”
“Yes?”
“Who had access to my login?”
“Nobody should have.”
“Should have isn’t an answer.”
For the first time that morning, her composure cracked.
Not from fear.
From confusion.
I recognized it because I felt the same thing.
Someone had used her credentials.
Or she wanted me to believe someone had.
“Change every household password,” I told Norah.
“Right now?”
“Every one.”
Daniel interrupted.
“Sir, I should probably handle—”
“No.”
Another pause.
I let the word remain there.
“Norah will change them. You will send me complete records of every household payment from January first through today.”
“That could take some time.”
“Then send what you have first.”
I ended the call.
Evelyn stared at me.
“You think I did this.”
“I think something happened.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
I looked at Anna’s denied request still in my hand.
“But this part you did.”
Her expression tightened.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I already told you.”
“No. You told me the budget was high.”
“It was.”
“But someone was charging thousands to restore marble that wasn’t being restored.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Maybe.”
She looked offended.
I ignored it.
“Why deny Anna instead of bringing it to me?”
For the first time, Evelyn had difficulty meeting my eyes.
“I thought the expense would become a precedent.”
“A precedent for what?”
“Staff requests.”
Norah looked uncomfortable.
Evelyn continued carefully.
“This is a large household, Mr. Moretti. Forty-three people work here regularly if you count landscaping and maintenance. Everyone has needs. Schedule changes. transportation problems. family situations. Once exceptions are made, they become expectations.”
“Removing a raised threshold is not a schedule change.”
“No.”
“Lily has a brace.”
“I know.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever speak to Anna about it?”
“Once.”
“What did you say?”
Evelyn’s eyes moved toward Norah.
Norah remained silent.
I waited.
Finally Evelyn said, “I told her household policy could not be reorganized around personal circumstances.”
Something cold moved through me.
Not rage.
Disappointment.
Sometimes disappointment was more difficult because there was nowhere useful to put it.
“You weren’t hired to keep people from asking for reasonable things.”
“I was hired to keep this house functioning.”
“And did this morning look functional to you?”
She said nothing.
I left the room.
Behind me, I heard Norah begin changing passwords.
I found Anna and Lily in the small morning room overlooking the garden.
Lily had three pancakes in front of her.
One was shaped vaguely like a rabbit.
The cook had apparently taken the assignment seriously.
Anna rose when I entered.
“You don’t need to do that.”
She sat again.
I took the chair across from them.
Lily dipped a strawberry into syrup.
“Mr. Moretti?”
“Yes?”
“Chef Tomas says you don’t like pancakes.”
I looked toward the door.
Tomas disappeared before I could catch him listening.
“I like pancakes.”
Lily narrowed her eyes.
May you like
“He said you eat eggs.”
“I eat eggs.”
