“You are one incredibly lucky man,” I finally managed to say. “Born under a lucky star, that’s for sure.” “I like to think my Dad’s watching over me from up there,” Arthur said, nodding skyward, “or I’d already be six feet under.” He pointed a thumb toward his own monument. “I didn’t wait around for a third attempt. I staged a crash, made it look like my car went off the road and plunged into the Schuylkill River while I was on my way to close a major deal. It cost a pretty penny to arrange for a fake death certificate and a convincing car analysis, but the plan worked. Susan and Oliver think I’m gone for good, and that buys me the time I need to figure out my next move.”
Arthur gave me a sad, weary smile. “So please, don’t be scared—that coffin is empty. I’m as alive as anyone else you might see visiting these headstones.” I hesitated for a moment, then decided to come clean. I pulled the wallet from my pocket and handed it back to its rightful owner. “I’m sorry. When I found this, I knew something wasn’t right. How could the same guy be on the license and on this monument? So I started keeping an eye on your… well, your grave. Forgive me for prying.” “No harm done,” Arthur replied, taking the wallet from me with a look of genuine gratitude. “I come here sometimes, just to… think. I look at my own name carved in stone and I tell myself, ‘One more slip, Arthur, and you’ll actually be in there.’ It’s a daily reminder that I have to fight for justice and stop my so-called family from stealing everything my father built.”
I looked at Stevens closely, studying the lines of stress and determination on his face, and then I nodded in sympathy. “I think I understand, believe me. But isn’t there any way you can hold them accountable?” Arthur shook his head, a gesture full of sadness and frustration. “Evidence. It all comes down to evidence. It’s nearly impossible to get solid proof. Every clue that points to Susan and Oliver is circumstantial. They’re not idiots; they covered their tracks well.”
I understood the young millionaire’s feelings all too well. Not long ago, I had faced a similar tidal wave of injustice, where money and personal hatred had conspired to lock someone away, to simply erase them from their own life. Victor, my husband, had money. He had a successful furniture business. He’d even told me, not long before he died, that the company was finally turning a consistent profit. Then he was poisoned, and all the blame fell squarely on my shoulders. What happened to all that money, to the company’s assets, remained a complete mystery to me. But I had my suspicions that Victor’s parents, who wanted nothing more to do with their ‘murderous’ daughter-in-law, had taken care of everything.
I found myself sharing my entire story with Arthur, and he listened with a focus and empathy I hadn’t encountered in years. Suddenly, a sly, calculating glint sparked in his eyes. “Julia, what if I were to offer you a job? A job that could earn you some very good money. What would you say to that?” I tensed slightly, my guard going up. “That depends entirely on what the job is.” The businessman allowed himself a small smile. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing illegal. I’ll pay you a fair wage, and in return, you’ll help me gather the evidence I need to finally pin down my stepmother and brother.”
“How on earth could I possibly help with that?” I asked, completely confused. “I have no connection to your family whatsoever.” Arthur shook his head. “Your job would be to get inside my stepmother’s house. You’d go in as a maid and keep your eyes and ears open for any dirt on them. I know they keep important documents in a safe; there might even be photos or something else that could prove their guilt. I can’t say for sure, but I have a strong suspicion that my own father didn’t die of natural causes, either.”
I stared at him, utterly stunned by the proposition, and then I found myself nodding slowly. “Okay. I’ll do it. But even if I show up and say I want to work, they might not be too keen on hiring a woman who’s seven months pregnant.” “If you offer to work for the lowest possible rate, they’ll snap you up in a heartbeat,” Arthur reassured me. “I’ve done my homework—they just lost their last maid. They’re notorious cheapskates, so their household staff is always turning over.”
After thinking it over for a moment, I agreed. I truly had nothing left to lose, and this meant a roof over my head, regular food, and a chance to help a good person who was also a victim of cruel scheming. I was still perfectly capable of working, so I hoped Arthur’s relatives would take me in without asking too many prying questions. I certainly had no plans to volunteer any information about my criminal record.
Arriving at the address he gave me, in the upscale suburb of Bryn Mawr, I stood before an imposing two-story mansion surrounded by a high stone fence. After stating my purpose to the security guard at the gate, I was led inside to the office of Susan Elizabeth, Arthur’s stepmother. The woman was tall and gaunt, probably in her mid-forties, and she seemed to look at everything in the room except for me during our entire conversation. Her entire manner was so cold and dismissive it made me want to turn and flee as fast as my pregnant body would allow. But I remembered my promise to Arthur. I had no choice but to endure the conversation, to smile and nod while feeling the icy blood that seemed to run through this woman’s veins.
“Are you absolutely certain you can follow all of my house rules?” Susan asked toward the end of our interview. “You need to understand, I have no interest in paying loafers, and you will not be permitted to leave the estate grounds more than once a week. Does that arrangement suit you?” She finally locked her dark eyes with mine, and I felt a distinct chill ripple through my body. The widow’s gaze reminded me of a venomous snake, coiled and ready to strike. One wrong word, and the entire plan Arthur and I had concocted would come crashing down.
“Yes,” I said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. “Yes, that’s perfectly fine with me. I don’t have any family here in the city anyway, so…” “Good,” Susan replied, her every word sharp and precise, like the blade of a knife. “Your personal life does not interest me in the slightest. You may begin your duties tomorrow. And remember, if my son or I find your work to be lacking in any way, or if you prove to be incompetent…” Arthur’s stepmother pierced me with another one of her sharp, warning looks. “You will be out of here faster than I can give the command for my dog to attack. Is that understood?”
I blinked rapidly, too stunned to form a coherent thought for a second. Would this woman really set guard dogs on a pregnant maid over a few unwashed dishes? All I could manage was a weak, “Of course, perfectly clear, Ms. Elizabeth. I promise to work quietly and diligently, exactly as you wish.” The mistress gave a single, curt nod, and the guard who had been standing by the door escorted me out to meet the head maid, who would explain my daily tasks in the mansion.
And so, for me, a series of monotonous workdays began. Arthur had been right—his stepmother and half-brother had truly terrible tempers. They scrutinized the staff constantly, always suspecting someone of laziness or idleness. On several occasions, I overheard Susan berating other maids with a kind of vicious relish. But so far, for whatever reason, my own work seemed to satisfy them.
Oliver Stevens turned out to be a handsome young man, but there was something slippery and untrustworthy about him. He had a great love for fine liquor but seemed to shirk any form of hard work. His mother often scolded him for neglecting his responsibilities at the family company, but he would just laugh it off. He didn’t seem to respect her authority very much. “Mom, just chill, please. The company’s not going to fall apart without us. Let them wait for a week, and they’ll be bringing those contracts to us on a silver platter. It’s not in their interest to lose out on those fat percentages.”
“Oliver, for heaven’s sake, snap out of it,” Susan would retort, her voice tight with irritation. “I’ve told you, we need to be extremely careful with these particular partners. They are not as simple as they seem. On top of that, they have strong ties to Chinese manufacturers. One wrong move on our part, and we’ll be the ones taking a huge financial loss. Honestly, sometimes I think you care about nothing but your endless parties and your drinking.”
Instead of offering a real answer, Oliver would just raise his glass of whiskey in a kind of triumphant, dreamy gesture. “It’s a good thing Dad left us such a massive pile of cash,” he’d say, his eyes glazing over. “So what if we lose a little bit on this one deal? Another one will come along soon enough. The main thing is, Mom, we’re filthy rich now, and there’s nobody looking over our shoulders, keeping tabs on our spending.” His mother’s face would twist into a mask of pure disgust. “My God, you are pathetic,” she’d say slowly, deliberately. “At least have the basic decency not to drink in front of your own mother before noon.”
I once heard Oliver mutter something nasty under his breath, followed by the sharp, unmistakable sound of a slap. Clearly, Susan’s composure had finally cracked. “What a lovely family,” I thought to myself, as I carefully polished a set of antique bronze figurines on a large oak dresser. “It seems like nothing in the world matters to them except money. That son of hers would probably sell his own mother if someone offered him the right price.”..
