Chapter 2 - THE HOUSEKEEPER WHO HAD BEEN DEAD FOR FOUR YEARS
Mateo's Manhattan townhouse was silent when they arrived.
It was almost midnight.
Dominic escorted Sophia through the private entrance while Mateo spoke briefly with the police investigator assigned to the break-in.
The officers had documented the damaged apartment, collected evidence, and promised to follow up.
Sophia sat in the kitchen with a blanket around her shoulders.
She stared at the marble countertop as though she had never seen it before.
Mateo entered carrying tea.
She looked up.
“You don't have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make tea.”
He set the cup in front of her.
“I'm aware.”
She almost smiled.
Then her expression collapsed.
“I'm sorry.”
Mateo sat opposite her.
“For what?”
“Lying to you.”
He studied her.
“Did you steal from me?”
“No.”
“Did you harm anyone in this house?”
“No.”
“Then your name is not the first problem we need to solve.”
Her eyes filled.
She looked away.
For three years, she'd worked in his home.
She knew where he kept his favorite books.
Which coffee he preferred.
That he hated lilies because their scent reminded him of hospitals.
That he sometimes sat alone in the library long after midnight, staring at photographs of people who were no longer alive.
But she'd never imagined he would sit across from her like this.
Patient.
Quiet.
Waiting for her to speak.
“My name is Sophia Bellamy,” she said.
Mateo nodded.
“My father is Victor Bellamy.”
“I know.”
She looked surprised.
“Of course you do.”
He leaned back.
“Tell me what happened.”
Sophia took a breath.
“Four years ago, I worked for my father's charitable foundation.”
Mateo waited.
“I handled grant applications. Scholarships. Housing assistance. Medical funding.”
She swallowed.
“At least that's what I thought I was doing.”
“What were you actually doing?”
“Moving money.”
Mateo's expression sharpened.
“Through the foundation?”
She nodded.
“I found payments to companies that didn't exist. Donations routed through offshore accounts. Scholarship funds transferred to businesses with no employees.”
“Money laundering.”
“Yes.”
Mateo was silent.
Sophia continued.
“I confronted my father.”
She laughed bitterly.
“I thought he'd be angry. I thought he'd explain it away.”
“What did he do?”
“He smiled.”
Her voice trembled.
“He told me I'd always been too sentimental to understand business.”
Mateo's jaw tightened.
“Then?”
“He offered me a choice. Forget what I'd seen or leave the family.”
“You left.”
“I tried.”
Sophia stared at the tea.
“Three days later, my car was found burned near the river.”
Mateo looked at her.
“And the body?”
She closed her eyes.
“A woman named Elena Marsh.”
Silence.
“She was twenty-nine. She worked at one of my father's properties.”
Sophia's voice broke.
“She disappeared the same night.”
Mateo stared.
“Your father killed her?”
“I don't know who did it. But he used her death to make everyone believe I was gone.”
For the first time, Mateo felt something colder than anger.
A man had erased his own daughter.
And another woman had died to make the lie believable.
Sophia looked up.
“I escaped because someone warned me.”
“Who?”
She hesitated.
“My father's driver.”
Mateo leaned forward.
“Name?”
“Gabriel Sloane.”
Dominic, standing near the doorway, went rigid.
Mateo noticed.
“What?”
Dominic swallowed.
“Gabriel Sloane disappeared four years ago.”
Sophia closed her eyes.
“I know.”
Mateo looked back at her.
May you like
She whispered:
“He disappeared because he helped me survive.”
