Chapter 268: Chapter 268
Chapter 268
The lock clicked open with a quiet, metal scrape that sent a shiver straight down Isabelle’s spine. Madam LaRoche had assumed the heavy oak door and the isolated hallway would keep her quiet, but she hadn’t accounted for the loose latch on the old window frame. It had taken Isabelle twenty minutes of painful fumbling with a broken hairpin, but she had finally managed to slide the bolt free and slip out. Her ankles throbbed from the awkward jump into the narrow servant corridor, but she didn’t stop to catch her breath. She couldn't.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she crept along the carpeted floor, avoiding the floorboards she already knew would creak. The estate felt unnaturally quiet, the kind of stillness that meant people were either asleep or hiding. She made a sharp right at the end of the hall, heading straight toward the one place she knew she might find answers: Sam’s study.
When she turned the brass knob, the door gave way without a sound. She slipped inside and pushed it closed behind her, leaning back against the wood for a quick second while her eyes adjusted to the room.
The study was deserted. The massive mahogany desk sat right in the center, looking completely stripped down compared to how Sam usually kept it. Papers weren't strewn across the surface anymore, and his heavy leather laptop bag was missing from its spot beside the bookshelf.
A cold realization settled in her gut. He was really gone. He must have caught the late-night flight back to California, ditching the estate before the mess with Madam LaRoche fully blew up.
Isabelle rushed over to the desk, her boots making soft, urgent thuds on the oriental rug. She began pulling drawers open, her hands shaking as she sifted through neat stacks of stationary, expensive pens, and empty folders. She didn't have much time, and she couldn't leave empty-handed. There had to be something left behind. A man like Sam didn't just walk away without leaving a paper trail, no matter how fast he rushed to the airport.
Near the back of the bottom drawer, under a heavy box of unused envelopes, her fingers brushed against something hard and metallic. She pulled it out. It was a sleek, silver flash drive, heavy for its size, with Sam’s initials lightly engraved on the side. Right next to it lay a small external hard drive, its connection cord neatly wrapped around its body. She recognized that drive; it was the one Sam always plugged into his laptop whenever he was reviewing property records and financial ledgers late at night.
Isabelle stood there for a beat, staring down at the silver metal in her palm. Taking it meant crossing a line she couldn't uncross.
It wasn't just hiding anymore; it was outright theft, and if Sam or Madam LaRoche realized it was gone, they would hunt her down for it. But as she thought about what was stored inside those files—the fraudulent transfer papers, the quiet deals that had ruined her university life the exact evidence she needed to prove what Madam LaRoche had been doing behind closed doors her grip tightened.
She shoved both the flash drive and the hard drive deep into the front pocket of her jeans, zipping her light jacket over them so they wouldn't glint in the room's dimness.
Just as she adjusted her jacket, a sharp creak echoed from the outer hallway.
Isabelle froze. Her breath caught in her throat. The sound was distinct, slow, and deliberate, getting closer to the study door with every passing second. Someone was walking down the west wing.
Panic surged through her. Looking around frantically, she realized there was nowhere obvious to run. The heavy velvet curtains were too far away, and the desk offered zero cover from the main entrance. Her eyes landed on the massive floor-to-ceiling bookshelf tucked into the far corner of the room. A large, ornate wooden room divider stood angled right beside it, surrounded by stacks of old, leather-bound encyclopedias that hadn't been moved in decades.
She darted across the rug, ducking behind the tall divider and crouching low between the wall and the heavy stacks of vintage books. She pulled her knees tight against her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs to make herself as small as possible. She forced her breathing to slow down, holding her breath until her ribs ached.
The heavy brass door handle turned with a loud, metallic clack.
The door swung inward, throwing a long strip of light from the hallway across the polished hardwood floor. A pair of soft-soled slippers stepped into the room, stopping right at the threshold.
“¿Hola? ¿Hay alguien aquí?”
The voice belonged to Lily. She was the Spanish maid who had been working at the estate for years, a quiet woman who usually kept to the kitchens and preferred to mind her own business. But tonight, the strange noise in the empty wing had clearly drawn her attention.
Lily took a cautious step forward into the room, her voice rising with a thick, nervous Spanish accent. “Mister Sam? Is that you? You leave something?”
Isabelle pressed her back flatter against the wooden bookshelf, trying not to make a single sound. A stray lock of hair had fallen across her face, but she didn't dare lift a hand to move it. Through a tiny gap between two thick encyclopedias, she could see Lily’s apron and the bottom of her uniform as the maid shuffled further into the study.
Lily paused near the desk. Isabelle watched her shadow stretch across the floor as the maid looked over the open drawers Isabelle hadn't managed to close all the way.
“Ay, Dios mío…” Lily muttered under her breath, her accent heavy as she clicked her tongue in annoyance. She took a step closer to the desk and reached out, sliding the bottom drawer shut with a solid thud.
Isabelle’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She braced herself, praying the woman would just fix the drawer and leave. But instead of turning back toward the door, Lily stopped. She tilted her head, her eyes catching on the small rug near the bookshelf. Isabelle had nudged it slightly out of place when she rushed to hide.
Lily walked straight toward the bookshelf. Her soft slippers dragged quietly against the floorboards, each step sounding like a countdown in Isabelle’s ears.
“¿Quién está ahí?” Lily called out, her voice dropping into a stern, suspicious tone. “I know I hear someone. Madam LaRoche is going to hear you!”
She reached the wooden divider and stopped less than two feet away from where Isabelle was huddled. Isabelle closed her eyes tightly, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from letting out a breath. If Lily leaned forward just an inch, or if she looked around the edge of the tall stacks of books, she would see Isabelle tucked into the dark corner.
Lily reached out her hand. Isabelle saw the maid's fingers grasp the edge of the wooden screen, preparing to pull it back and look behind it. Isabelle squeezed her eyes shut, her muscles locked, preparing herself for the moment the woman screamed or raised the alarm.
Suddenly, a loud, sharp voice echoed from down the hallway.
“¡Lily! Where are you?” It was the head housekeeper, her harsh voice carrying easily down the quiet corridor. “The kitchen counters need to be cleared before morning! Stop wandering around!”
Lily startled, her hand instantly snapping back from the wooden screen. She let out a soft huff of frustration, muttering something fast in Spanish under her breath about the endless chores.
“¡Ya voy!” Lily shouted back toward the open door, taking a step backward away from the bookshelf.
She gave the dark corner of the study one last suspicious glance, shaking her head as if deciding the noises had just been the old house settling after all. She turned on her heel and walked briskly back toward the entrance of the study.
Isabelle slowly opened her eyes, watching through the gap in the books as Lily reached the doorway. The maid didn't look back again. She stepped out into the bright hallway, grabbed the heavy brass handle, and pulled the door firmly shut behind her.
The lock clicked back into place with a definitive snap, leaving the study completely quiet once again.
Isabelle let out a long, quiet breath, her shoulders sagging as the tension left her body. She waited in the dark corner for two full minutes, making sure the footsteps down the hall had completely faded away before she dared to move.
Slowly, her knees aching from the tight crouch, she stood up from behind the stack of old books. She reached into her jacket pocket, her fingers wrapping firmly around the cold metal of the flash drive. She pulled it out just enough to look down at it one last time, reminding herself of why she had taken the risk in the first place.
She shoved the drive back into her pocket, zipped her jacket up to her chin, and stepped out from behind the bookshelf, heading straight for the study's back window.