Chapter 2 - The Room beside the Laundry
The servants’ corridor ran behind the west kitchen and ended near the laundry room.
I had approved the renovation years earlier, but I had never walked to the final door.
Marisol and Valentina lived inside a space smaller than my dressing room.
A narrow bed stood against one wall. A child’s mattress lay beside it beneath a hand sewn quilt. There was no exterior window, only a vent above the door and a small lamp attached to the wall.
Valentina’s drawings covered the plaster.
Most showed two people.
A woman with dark hair.
A little girl wearing green.
One picture showed a tall man beside them, but his face had been left blank.
My security officers entered first.
A cabinet had been opened.
Clothes covered the floor.
The mattress was lifted.
A wooden box lay broken near the wall.
“Who came in?” I asked.
Security chief Thomas Reed checked his tablet.
“The hallway feed went dark for ninety seconds.”
“Why?”
“Local override from the service panel.”
“Who has access?”
“Senior household management, security, and Miss Paulina.”
Paulina stood behind me with her arms folded.
“That proves nothing.”
Marisol entered holding Valentina.
She looked at the overturned room without surprise.
“What were they searching for?” I asked.
“My letters.”
“The ones Valentina mentioned?”
She nodded.
“I wrote to you after you disappeared.”
“I did not disappear.”
“You stopped answering.”
“I was in a hospital.”
Her eyes moved toward mine.
“No one told me.”
After the runway accident, I remained unconscious for six days. My mother controlled the company while doctors treated spinal injuries and a severe concussion.
When I woke, she said Marisol had taken a private settlement and left California.
My mother had never lied to me about money.
At least, I had believed she had not.
“Who told you I did not want contact?” I asked.
“Your chief of staff.”
“Ethan Cole?”
“Yes.”
Ethan died eight months after my accident from what investigators called a sudden cardiac event.
He had managed my calls, contracts, and personal schedule for nearly a decade.
Marisol said she visited the hospital twice.
The first time, Ethan told her I was too unstable for visitors.
The second time, security escorted her outside after accusing her of stealing jewelry from my mother’s suite.
“The medallion,” I said.
She touched the chain at Valentina’s neck.
“Your mother had already reported it missing.”
Paulina stepped into the room.
“Because it belonged to the family.”
“I gave it to Marisol.”
“You had a head injury. You do not know what you gave away.”
I turned toward her.
“You seem to know a great deal about something that happened before we met.”
Her face remained calm.
“Your mother discussed it with my father.”
Paulina’s father, Gabriel Robles, had served as the Villaseñor family attorney for twenty years. After my mother’s death, he handled the estate transition and encouraged my relationship with Paulina.
I had believed he was protecting the family.
Now every old decision felt newly dangerous.
Marisol picked up the broken wooden box.
Inside were envelopes, photographs, and returned mail.
Most envelopes carried my name.
DIEGO VILLASEÑOR.
Some had been opened.
None had reached me.
One contained an ultrasound photograph dated three years and eight months earlier.
Another contained a letter written in careful black ink.
Diego,
I do not know whether they are telling you I left. I am still here. I am pregnant. I need you to know before someone makes this decision for both of us.
My hands tightened around the paper.
I looked at Valentina.
She sat on the mattress, repairing the rabbit’s bent ear with her fingers.
“Why did you stay in the mansion?” I asked.
Marisol removed another document.
It was a police complaint accusing her of stealing the medallion, cash, and medical records from my mother.
The complaint had never been filed in court, but it carried an official case number and Gabriel Robles’s signature as reporting counsel.
“Paulina offered to make it disappear,” Marisol said.
Paulina laughed.
“I helped you.”
“You told me I could work here or go to jail.”
“I gave you housing, employment, and medical insurance.”
“You took my phone and every letter I wrote.”
“You were obsessed with Diego.”
“You knew I was carrying his child.”
Paulina’s eyes moved toward Valentina.
“I knew what you claimed.”
Valentina looked up.
Marisol immediately pulled her closer.
I stepped toward Paulina.
“Did you know about the pregnancy?”
“My father said there was an allegation.”
“Did you arrange the room?”
“I kept a desperate woman from embarrassing your family.”
“She was carrying my child.”
“You do not know that.”
Her voice was too quick.
I ordered Thomas to call an independent laboratory and arrange a legally witnessed DNA test.
Paulina reached for my arm.
“You will allow a maid to rewrite your entire life because of a necklace?”
“No. I am going to establish facts because everyone around me spent four years hiding them.”
Thomas approached with the camera audit.
The person who entered Marisol’s room had covered their face and worn housekeeping clothing.
Before leaving, the intruder removed one envelope from beneath the mattress.
Security recovered a partial image of the front.
It was addressed to Marisol from Elena Villaseñor.
My mother.
May you like
The postmark was dated six days before her death.
Continue to the next part: My mother’s missing letter appears to contain instructions someone inside the mansion still fears.
