Chapter 7
Edmund admitted it.
My daughters had appeared on video with me seven times in four months.
Seven.
I could have counted.
Should have.
Each call was scheduled.
Short.
Good lighting.
Hair brushed.
Clean dresses borrowed from the upstairs nursery wardrobe.
Snacks placed on the table before the call.
Then removed afterward.
I felt sick.
“Whose idea?”
“Mine.”
Edmund’s voice barely carried.
“Why?”
“Because the first time you called unexpectedly, Harper told you she was hungry.”
I remembered.
I laughed.
Said she had just eaten.
Vanessa interrupted:
“She always says that.”
I believed her.
Afterward Vanessa panicked.
She told Edmund unpredictable calls would make me abandon the overseas work and come home.
He believed that would destabilize the organization.
Maybe true.
So he proposed scheduled calls.
For security.
For time zones.
For routine.
All reasonable.
Then those calls became theater.
“What did you think was happening between them?”
Edmund looked destroyed.
“At first, discipline.”
“And after you saw the bread?”
“I knew.”
There.
“Why continue?”
He began crying.
Because if I returned and learned the truth, he would lose everything.
His position.
House.
Reputation.
Seventeen years of trust.
He convinced himself Christmas was the deadline.
Vanessa promised after the public presentation the punishments would stop.
The girls would accept her.
Food would return to normal.
He only needed to keep the house calm until tonight.
I stared.
“You gambled four children against your career until Christmas.”
“Yes.”
No euphemism left.
Good.
Then Edmund told me about Rose Bennett.
The girls’ longtime night nanny.
Vanessa did not dismiss her for indulgence.
Rose had discovered June eating dry cereal from the floor beneath a pantry shelf.
She confronted Vanessa.
Then tried calling me directly.
Edmund blocked the call.
Said I was unreachable.
Rose refused to accept that.
Grant escorted her off the estate the next morning.
I stood.
“Where is Rose?”
Edmund gave me the address.
Still in Queens.
Ten minutes away.
I sent a car.
May you like
Not to rescue the story.
To bring back the adult who tried to speak when everyone else found reasons not to.
