Chapter 1 - WHY IS MY DAUGHTER ON HER KNEES?
My briefcase hit the marble floor before I consciously let go of it.
Estelle was on her knees.
That was all I saw at first.
My five-year-old daughter was kneeling beside a pile of shattered porcelain and half-eaten food, her small hands hovering uncertainly over a broken plate as tears ran down her cheeks.
“Daddy…”
I stopped breathing.
Lenette Foster, the young woman who had worked in our home for eight months, stood between Estelle and Lorna with one arm stretched behind her protectively.
Lorna’s face was flushed with anger.
“What is going on here?”
Nobody answered quickly enough.
I stepped over my briefcase.
A cleaning cloth lay beside Estelle’s knee.
There were dirty dishes on the floor.
Sauce.
Silverware.
A broken wineglass.
Then I saw the red mark forming where someone had gripped Estelle’s shoulder.
My voice dropped.
“Why is my daughter on her knees?”
Estelle scrambled upright.
She ran to me.
I crouched and caught her so hard she almost disappeared against my chest.
“Daddy…”
“I’ve got you.”
Her whole body shook.
“What happened?”
She tried to speak.
Couldn’t.
Lenette answered instead.
“Miss Lorna threw the tray down and told Estelle to clean everything.”
Lorna snapped:
“That is not what happened.”
Lenette turned.
“You pushed her onto her knees.”
“You’re a maid.”
“And she’s five.”
Lorna stepped toward her.
“Touch her again and you’re fired.”
Lenette did not move.
That was when I understood something else.
Lorna had not expected me home.
My meeting in Boston was supposed to keep me away until the following morning.
The snow delayed my flight.
Then the client canceled dinner.
I had driven home without telling anyone.
If I had arrived twelve hours later, I would never have seen this room.
I looked at Estelle.
“What did Lorna say to you?”
She pressed her face against my shirt.
I felt her tears through the fabric.
“She said if I cleaned good…”
Lorna interrupted.
“Conrad.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Do not interrogate a child in the middle of a tantrum.”
Estelle went rigid in my arms.
That word.
Tantrum.
I stood slowly, keeping her against me.
“What did you say?”
Lorna lifted her chin.
“She has become impossible lately.”
Lenette stared at her in disbelief.
“She asked for dinner.”
“That does not give her permission to invade an adult gathering.”
I looked around.
There were no guests now.
Only half-cleared dishes from whatever dinner had happened earlier.
I had known Lorna invited two wedding planners and her sister over that evening.
Estelle was supposed to eat upstairs with Lenette.
Apparently she had come down.
“Why was she on the floor?”
Lorna sighed as though I were exhausting her.
“She knocked things over.”
“No, she didn’t,” Lenette said.
Lorna rounded on her.
“One more word and you can pack tonight.”
I put Estelle behind my leg.
“Lenette stays.”
Lorna stared at me.
“Excuse me?”
“She stays.”
“This is our home.”
“My home.”
“Our future home.”
“No.”
One word.
Her expression changed.
I picked up Estelle.
She wrapped her legs around my waist.
Lorna laughed once.
“You cannot keep indulging her.”
I said nothing.
She came closer.
“You know what this child needs after the wedding?”
The room felt suddenly colder.
“What?”
“A clean break.”
Lenette’s face changed.
Lorna continued.
“Send her away.”
I thought I had misheard.
“Where?”
“I don’t care. Boarding school. Residential care. Orphanage, if that’s what finally works.”
I stared at her.
“You know her father is standing in front of you.”
“She needs to stop controlling your life.”
Estelle began crying again.
Lorna did not lower her voice.
“After the wedding, dump the kid at the orphanage. Maid too.”
Something inside me went completely still.
I handed Estelle carefully to Lenette.
“Take her upstairs.”
Lorna pointed at Lenette.
“She is not going anywhere with my future stepdaughter.”
I stepped between them.
“Lenette.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take Estelle upstairs.”
Lorna grabbed my arm.
“Conrad.”
I turned.
My hand moved.
One slap.
Hard.
Lorna stumbled backward and hit the carpet beside the dining table.
The sound vanished from the room.
I knew immediately what I had done.
She had not been physically attacking me in that moment.
I had struck her from rage.
I would have to answer for that.
But the next sentence came without hesitation.
“There will be no wedding.”
Lorna touched her cheek.
“You’re insane.”
“No.”
“You’re throwing away everything over a spoiled child.”
I looked at her.
“She is my daughter.”
“She is the reason you never move forward.”
“No. You are.”
She stood slowly.
Her engagement ring flashed under the chandelier.
“You think you can humiliate me like this?”
“I think you should leave.”
“This house—”
“Leave.”
Her expression changed.
Not heartbreak.
Calculation.
That bothered me.
Then she looked toward the sideboard.
A leather folder sat there.
Dark green.
Embossed with my family company’s crest.
I had never seen it before.
Lorna moved toward it.
Lenette spoke from the staircase.
“Mr. Bellamy.”
I turned.
She was still holding Estelle.
Her face was pale.
“Miss Lorna told me never to let you see that folder.”
Lorna froze.
I looked at the folder.
Then at my former fiancée.
“What is it?”
“Wedding paperwork.”
I picked it up.
She lunged.
Not at me.
At the folder.
I pulled it away.
“Conrad, give me that.”
The panic in her voice was the first honest emotion I had heard from her all night.
I opened the cover.
The first page was not a wedding contract.
It was headed:
ESTELLE BELLAMY — RESIDENTIAL PLACEMENT AUTHORIZATION.
My signature line was blank.
Lorna’s was not.
And underneath the form, clipped to another document, was a copy of a transfer request worth eight million dollars.
I did not know what either document meant yet.
May you like
But Lorna did.
And for the first time since I walked through the door, she looked more afraid of paperwork than she was of losing the wedding.
