Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Silver Locket
Harold’s heart hammered against his ribs, not from physical exertion, but from a sudden, overwhelming surge of shock.
The locket.
It was an antique piece commissioned by his late wife, Margaret, engraved with a microscopic 'M' on the clasp and a hidden spring mechanism that only a Bennett could open. Eleven years ago, when Michael had been disowned and banished from the family after a bitter, fabricated scandal orchestrated by Grant, Michael had vanished into the night taking his infant daughter with him.
Harold had spent years searching for him through private agencies, but the trails always went cold. He had assumed his youngest son had changed his name and fled overseas.
He never imagined that Michael’s child—his own granddaughter—had been living right under his nose, tucked away in the servants' wing, working alongside her mother who served as the estate's head laundress.
"What is your name, child?" Harold asked, his disguised voice cracking with genuine emotion.
"I'm Elena," she replied softly, watching him eat the sandwich with wide, empathetic eyes. "My mom is Martha. We live in the back cottage. Are you okay, Grandpa? Do you need me to get you some water from the hose?"
Harold shook his head slowly, carefully chewing the bread. It tasted better than any five-star meal he had ever consumed in his life.
"I'm fine, Elena. More than fine," Harold murmured, his eyes lingering on the silver locket. "Where did you get that pretty necklace?"
Elena touched the locket instinctively, her expression turning solemn. "My daddy gave it to me before he... before he went away. Mom says I have to keep it safe, and never, ever show it to the people inside the big house, especially Mr. Grant."
Before Harold could press further, the heavy security gates buzzed again, and Arthur Vance stepped out briskly, looking intensely relieved as he spotted the old beggar.
"Hey! You there! Move along!" Arthur shouted loudly, playing his part for any cameras or hidden ears, while winking subtly at Harold.
Elena quickly stood up, dusting off her skirt. "You better go, mister. The security guard is coming. Take the apple and the milk, too!" She pushed the remaining food into his lap, grabbed her backpack, and scurried off toward the school bus waiting down the road.
May you like
Harold clutched the bruised apple and the small carton of milk to his chest. He stood up with Arthur's help, discarding the wooden walking stick.
"Arthur," Harold said, his voice dropping all pretense of disguise as they walked back toward the private study. "Cancel all morning meetings. Bring Martha, the laundress, to my office immediately. And bring me the master personnel files from eleven years ago."
