Chapter 2: The Sound of the Scrubber
The silence inside the grand foyer was suffocating. Usually, the moment Daniel’s key turned in the lock, the sound of tiny, racing footsteps echoed down the marble hallway, followed by Sophie throwing herself at his waist.
Tonight, there was only the low, rhythmic hum of the industrial refrigerator from the kitchen.
Daniel set his briefcase down, his brow furrowing. "Lily? Sophie? Victoria?" he called out, his deep voice bouncing off the high ceilings.
No answer.
He walked past the dining room, where the massive mahogany table sat empty, devoid of any signs of dinner. As he neared the back of the house, a faint, metallic scraping sound caught his attention. It was coming from the secondary catering kitchen—a cold, stainless-steel room usually reserved for private chefs during large fundraisers.
Daniel pushed the swinging door open and froze.
His daughters were there. Sophie, only eight years old, was standing on a shaky wooden milk crate just to reach the deep commercial sink. Her small sleeves were rolled up to her shoulders, her hands raw, red, and trembling under the streaming water. Beside her, twelve-year-old Lily was furiously scrubbing the bottom of a heavy, blackened copper pot, her face streaked with sweat and tears.
Stacked on the counter next to them were dozens of pots, pans, and heavy roasting trays.
"What is going on here?" Daniel’s voice cracked through the room like thunder.
Both girls jumped. Sophie lost her footing on the crate, slipping backward, but Daniel lunged forward, catching her in his arms before she hit the tile floor. She immediately buried her face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Dad," Lily whispered, her voice cracking as she dropped the metal scrubber into the sink. "You're home."
"Why are you girls cleaning this? Where is Margaret? Where is the staff?" Daniel demanded, looking at Sophie’s wrinkled, water-logged fingers.
"Margaret was sent home early," a cold, smooth voice answered from the doorway.
Daniel looked up to see Victoria leaning against the doorframe. She looked pristine, wearing a silk emerald robe, her hair tied up in a flawless bun. She was slowly applying hand cream, smelling strongly of the expensive French perfume Lily had noticed nights before.
"Victoria," Daniel said, his jaw tightening as he stood up, keeping Sophie pressed firmly against his hip. "Explain this. Now."
"They are being disciplined, Daniel," Victoria said calmly, not a hint of remorse in her eyes. "Sophie threw a tantrum and knocked over a vase in the gallery. Lily tried to lie to cover for her. Since you are always away enabling their spoiled behavior, I decided to teach them some humility. Fifty pots. By hand. To understand the value of hard work."
"They are eight and twelve!" Daniel roared. "We have a full-time staff for this! This isn't discipline, Victoria, this is cruelty!"
"It's parenting," Victoria countered, her voice dropping into a sharp, icy register. "Something this house has lacked since Emily died. If you don't like my methods, Daniel, perhaps you shouldn't leave your precious daughters behind while you chase billions in New York."
Before Daniel could unleash the fury building in his chest, Lily stepped between them, her eyes fixed on Victoria with a strange, fierce intensity. "We didn't knock over the vase, Dad. We were punished because I asked her about the woman."
Victoria’s hand stopped moving over her skin. The room grew deathly quiet.
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"What woman, Lily?" Daniel asked, his eyes darting between his daughter and his new wife.
"The woman who was in your office three nights ago," Lily said clearly, staring directly at her stepmother. "The one who had Victoria's keys."
