I needed to get out of this room before the police arrived.
I rushed toward the large, velvet-draped windows at the back of the study.
I threw the curtains aside and unlocked the brass latch, shoving the heavy glass window upward.
Cold night air poured into the room, smelling of salt water and pine needles.
I climbed up onto the windowsill, my black skirt bunching around my knees, and dropped down onto the damp grass outside.
I stayed low, creeping along the side of the massive stone estate.
The music from the ballroom drifted through the night air, mocking the reality of what I had just discovered.
I reached the gravel driveway near the back kitchen entrance, intending to run straight into the woods and disappear.
But as I rounded the corner, I ran directly into someone.
I gasped, stumbling backward.
It was an elderly man wearing a formal black suit, carrying a stack of clean linen napkins.
He dropped the napkins in the dirt, his eyes wide with shock.
It was Thomas, the family’s head steward, a man who had worked for the Sterlings since before I was born.
He stared at my face, his jaw trembling slightly.
“Isabelle?” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.
He didn't see a catering maid.
He saw the ghost of the woman who had lived in this house twenty years ago.
“My mother is dead,” I whispered, tears spilling hot and fast down my cheeks. “I’m Eleanor.”
Thomas covered his mouth with a shaking hand. “You’re alive… we thought you died with her in the crash.”
“I didn't die,” I said bitterly. “Arthur just paid to make sure it looked that way.”
Thomas frowned, his brow furrowing in deep confusion. “Arthur? No, child. Arthur mourned you both every single day.”
I shook my head, pulling back from him. “I saw the letter. He signed it.”
Before Thomas could answer, the heavy metal door of the kitchen flew open.
Marcus stepped out onto the gravel, holding a two-way radio and looking panicked.
“She’s not in the study!” Marcus yelled into the radio. “Check the perimeter, the police are pulling up to the front gate!”
Marcus locked eyes with me.
“There she is!” he shouted, lunging forward to grab me.
I ducked under his arm and sprinted past him, shoving the heavy kitchen door open and running inside.
Chefs yelled and pots clattered as I rushed through the crowded, chaotic kitchen.
I could have run out the side door.
I could have disappeared into the night with the documents in my pocket.
But the memory of my mother dying in that cold, damp room burned through my veins, incinerating my fear.
I stopped in the middle of the kitchen.
I reached up and retied my white catering apron tightly around my waist.
I walked over to the prep counter and picked up a heavy, polished silver serving tray.
I wasn't going to run away in the dark like a thief.
If they were going to arrest me, they were going to have to do it in front of every single wealthy friend they had.
I marched straight toward the swinging doors that led back into the ballroom.
Marcus burst into the kitchen behind me, screaming for me to stop.
But he was too late.
I pushed the heavy doors open and stepped directly into the blinding light of the gala.
The ballroom was even louder than before.
A string quartet played a lively waltz in the corner, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted duck and expensive champagne.
I walked purposefully through the crowd, holding the heavy silver tray perfectly level.