Chapter 8 - THE PERSON INSIDE MY OFFICE
I was placed on temporary administrative leave.
Not fired.
Not accused.
But removed from active client work while the company investigated.
I walked out of the building carrying a cardboard box with personal items I had kept in my office for nine years.
For the first time since the balcony, I cried.
Not in front of Ethan.
Not in front of Patricia.
Not in court.
In my car.
Alone.
Because work had been mine.
Before Ethan.
Before his family.
Before all of them.
I had built my career through twelve-hour days, airport lounges, missed holidays, bad coffee, impossible deadlines, and years of being underestimated.
Now someone had reached into it and planted poison.
Rebecca waited until I stopped crying.
Then she said, “Who had access to your corporate credentials?”
“No one.”
“Elena.”
I wiped my face.
“My assistant sometimes processed expenses.”
“Name?”
“Lauren Pierce.”
“How long has she worked with you?”
“Six years.”
“Trust her?”
I almost said completely.
Then everything I had believed about trust suddenly felt childish.
“I did.”
The company’s internal investigation traced the payment authorization to my credentials.
But the login came from a device registered to Lauren.
When confronted, she denied knowingly approving anything.
Then she disappeared.
She did not come to work the next day.
Her phone went off.
Her apartment was empty.
Suddenly the case changed.
This was no longer simply a vicious family dispute.
Someone had been inside my office.
And Ethan had known my schedule, my travel dates, my financial patterns, and my company opportunities with impossible precision.
Rebecca stared at the evidence.
“Either Lauren helped him willingly…”
“Or?”
“Someone used her.”
Two days later, Marcus found a payment from Northstar Family Consulting to an account connected to Lauren’s brother.
150,000 pesos.
Three months earlier.
My hands went cold.
I remembered Lauren congratulating me on the London opportunity.
I had never told Ethan about the formal salary package.
Lauren had known.
Ethan had known.
The leak had been sitting six feet from my office door.
Sophie climbed into my lap while I reviewed documents at the hotel.
“Mommy?”
I closed the laptop immediately.
“Yes?”
“Are we going home?”
The question hurt.
“We’re going somewhere better.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
She looked down.
“Is Grandma mad?”
I lifted her chin.
“You don’t need to worry about Grandma’s feelings.”
“Daddy said Grandma cries because of me.”
My entire body went still.
“When did Daddy say that?”
“On the phone.”
Ethan had spoken to Sophie during his scheduled video call that morning.
I had remained nearby but out of view.
He had told her he missed her.
He had asked about her toys.
Apparently he had also said more.
“What else did Daddy say?”
Sophie twisted the hem of her shirt.
“He said if I say Grandma is mean, Grandma will be alone.”
I closed my eyes.
Manipulation.
Through a three-year-old.
I contacted Rebecca.
By evening, we requested supervised communication.
Ethan responded publicly.
He claimed I was blocking access.
The comments became worse.
But something unexpected happened.
A woman messaged me.
Her name was Rosa Vega.
She had cleaned our apartment twice a week until three months earlier.
Her message contained only one sentence.
Mrs. Mercer, I think I know why Sophie was losing weight.
I called immediately.
Rosa cried before she finished speaking.
Patricia had instructed her not to give Sophie food without permission.
On days I traveled, breakfast was often bread or cereal.
Lunch was deliberately small.
“If she asks for more, she’s manipulating you,” Patricia would say.
Rosa sometimes fed Sophie secretly.
Then Patricia caught her.
“She fired me,” Rosa said.
“What reason did she give me?”
“She told you I stole jewelry.”
I remembered.
Patricia had called me furious.
A bracelet was missing.
I had believed her.
I had apologized to Patricia for bringing an untrustworthy person into the home.
Rosa’s voice broke.
“I never stole anything.”
I believed her now.
“Do you have proof?”
A long silence.
Then Rosa said:
“I have photographs.”
My heartbeat changed.
“Of what?”
“Your daughter.”
May you like
She inhaled shakily.
“And recordings of your mother-in-law.”
