Chapter 4
Elliot had not vanished.
He was in the mansion.
That was the part I did not expect.
Rafe found him inside the old projection room behind the library.
Door locked.
Laptop open.
Three phones charging.
Suitcase packed.
He was waiting for something.
Or someone.
When they brought him to me, Daphne stopped breathing.
Elliot looked at her first.
Not me.
Good.
“Sit.”
He remained standing.
I let him.
Some men need the illusion.
I asked:
“How many recordings?”
He smiled faintly.
“Enough.”
Wrong tone.
My bodyguard moved.
I raised one hand.
No.
I wanted words.
“What did Daphne ask for?”
He looked at her.
“She asked for household authority.”
Daphne snapped:
“You suggested the recordings.”
He laughed.
“And you used them.”
There.
Partnership already breaking.
“What did you want?” I asked.
Elliot looked at me.
“A real position.”
Of course.
Five years serving near power had convinced him proximity was underpayment.
He knew my schedules.
My voice.
My weaknesses.
But no one at a table ever asked his opinion.
Daphne did.
She made him feel necessary.
Then she made him useful.
He built the first recording as an experiment.
A harmless one, he claimed.
Telling the florist to change arrangements.
It worked.
No one questioned it.
Then a kitchen instruction.
Then staff discipline.
Then security.
Every successful lie expanded what felt possible.
“Who escalated to captains?”
Silence.
Not Daphne.
Her face told me.
I looked at Elliot.
“Who?”
He swallowed.
“Me.”
Interesting.
Why?
Because household control was too small.
If a fake Sebastian could redirect staff, maybe he could redirect the organization.
Not forever.
Minutes.
Hours.
Enough to open doors.
Move people.
Delay responses.
“What were you waiting for tonight?”
Elliot glanced toward the ceiling.
Ballroom above us.
Then toward Daphne.
She looked confused.
Good.
Different plans.
He whispered:
“Your engagement toast.”
Again.
Apparently everyone liked to build betrayal around champagne.
“What happens after?”
Elliot’s smile disappeared.
“A recording goes out.”
“To whom?”
“Everyone.”
My voice.
My network.
One message scheduled for after midnight.
I asked what it said.
He looked at Daphne.
May you like
Then me.
“That Sebastian Vale was stepping down.”
