Chapter 3 - The Interrogation of the Housekeeper
The silence in the blue study became so profound that the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner sounded like falling hammers.
Lorenzo slowly lowered his hands. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the walnut desk. He didn't look at Clara, who was still trembling on the floor. He didn't look at the little girl peering cautiously over the edge of the large chair. His gaze remained locked on Ranata.
"Ranata," Lorenzo said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "How long have you managed this household?"
Ranata blinked, a flicker of unease crossing her professionally composed features before she smoothed it over with a respectful smile. "Fourteen years, Mr. Duca. Since your father’s time. I have always maintained absolute integrity in these halls."
"Fourteen years," Lorenzo repeated thoughtfully. He reached out and slid a small leather-bound ledger toward the edge of the desk—the household inventory log. "Then you must know every item that enters and leaves this estate down to the last silver teaspoon."
"Of course, sir."
"Then explain to me," Lorenzo continued, his voice dropping into a register that made Pino let out a low, warning rumble from across the room, "how a seventeenth-century French clock—an item that was supposedly missing from the east gallery—managed to get inside a locker located in the basement quarters, a locker that requires a master key held only by you and the head of security."
Ranata’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Well, sir... th-the girl, Clara, must have somehow copied the key, or perhaps found it unattended. Thieves are clever, Mr. Duca. You know how people of her background are—always looking for a shortcut to wealth."
From across the room, a small, clear voice rang out like a silver bell.
"That's a lie."
Everyone froze. Ranata whipped her head around, glaring daggers at the armchair. Lily had stood up on the velvet cushion, her brown eyes blazing with a fierce, unexpected courage that defied her three and a half years of life.
"She's lying," Lily repeated, pointing a small, grubby finger straight at the head housekeeper. "I saw her do it! I was hiding behind the big green plants because I dropped my button, and the old lady put the shiny box into Mommy's locker while Mommy was cleaning the upstairs windows! She laughed and said, 'Let's see how the stray cat defends herself now.'"
Ranata’s face lost every drop of color. Her composure shattered instantly, replaced by a frantic panic. "That—that's absurd! A child! You're listening to the hallucinations of a toddler? She's been coached! The mother put her up to this!"
"Silence," Lorenzo commanded. The single word carried the crushing weight of a falling vault door.
Lorenzo stood up. At six-foot-two, with broad shoulders and the aura of a man who commanded legions of armed men, he towered over the housekeeper. He walked slowly around the desk, his boots making no sound on the thick rug, until he stood right in front of Ranata. She shrank back, her breath catching in her throat.
"In this house," Lorenzo said softly, looking down into her terrified eyes, "we have rules. Rule number one: loyalty. Rule number two: never steal from the family. And rule number three..." He paused, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "...do not lie to me."
He turned his head slightly toward the door. "Paolo!"
The door flew open instantly. Paolo stood at attention. "Sir!"
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"Check the security footage from the lower west hallway corridor for yesterday afternoon at approximately 3:15 PM," Lorenzo ordered. "Pull it up on the monitor in this room right now. And bring two of the outer perimeter guards with you."
"Right away, Mr. Duca."
