Chapter 52 Lions Den
Elsie
I had been watching Mrs. Chavez closely since morning. Every Thursday she went to Mr. Malcolm Lancaster’s bedroom to clean it, and today was no different. She had her usual bucket, mop, and cleaning rags in her hand. I knew what I was about to do was terrible, but I didn’t see any other way. That red file might be in there. That file could be the only thing that can help me.
I waited until she began walking towards Malcom’s door, then I quietly slipped a small bottle of oil from the kitchen shelf. My hands were shaking so hard that a few drops spilled on my fingers. “God, please forgive me,” I whispered, then poured the oil right by the edge of the corridor tiles and stepped away quickly.
Mrs. Chavez didn’t notice anything. She stepped right on it.
“Ah!” she screamed, slipping so fast her bucket flew from her hand. Water splashed everywhere as she hit the ground with a loud thud. I rushed to her immediately, my heart racing so loud it almost drowned her groan.
“Oh my God! Are you okay?” I knelt beside her, pretending to panic.
“My wrist,” she hissed, holding it tightly. “I think I strained it.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, helping her massage it gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it. I’ll take care of everything. You should go and rest.”
She shook her head. “No. No one else is supposed to go in there. I’ll clean it when I get better.” She tried to stand, but I helped her sit on the small stool beside the corridor wall.
The mop handle had broken, and water spread across the floor. “Please,” I insisted softly, “let me at least dry this before someone else slips.”
She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Fine. But don’t go in, Elsie. You hear me? Don’t go into Mr. Malcolm’s room.”
I nodded, trying not to meet her eyes. As I helped her walk away toward her quarters, I noticed the small key ring had slipped from her apron pocket. My heart pounded. I bent, picked it up quietly, and hid it in my palm.
When she disappeared around the corner, I stood there for a long second, staring at the key. “God, please forgive me,” I whispered again. “I know this is wrong… making an old woman fall just to get what I want. But I have to do this.”
I glanced up at the security camera hanging above the corridor. It blinked with a red light. I knew it was recording, but at that moment, I didn’t care. Once I got the red file, I wouldn’t need to stay here anymore. Mrs. Lancaster would help me. I believed she would.
I walked to the door and slipped the key into the lock. My hand was trembling so bad that it took me three tries before it clicked open, clicked, and I slipped inside, shutting the door behind me.
The room was dim, the curtains half-drawn. It wasn’t like the other rooms in the mansion. Everything inside was old, heavy, and classic. The furniture looked like something carved decades ago, thick with the wood, deep brown leather chairs, and a giant desk that stood near the window. The shelves were filled with law books and old files. Not a single thing was out of place.
I started searching. I looked through drawers, under piles of papers, behind the thick books. Nothing. Not a single red file. My heart sank.
Then I heard a weird sound—the faint click of a door handle.
My whole body froze. Someone was coming in.
I looked around quickly and saw a large curtain near the bookshelf. Without thinking, I slipped behind it, holding my breath. The door opened, and I heard the deep, calm voice I dreaded most.
“Yeah,” Mr. Malcolm said into his phone as he stepped in. “The delivery was successful. Everything went smoothly across the border. I handled the shipment myself this time.”
Shipment? Across the border?
I frowned in confusion, pressing my back against the cold wall. What delivery? What shipment? The Lancasters were supposed to be lawyers. What kind of lawyer talked about shipments?
He walked further inside, still talking. “Tell Diego to keep it clean this time. I don’t want a repeat of what happened last time. And make sure the buyers don’t talk.”
My heartbeat thundered in my ears. What buyers? What were they selling?
I shifted slightly to see him better, and my elbow brushed the curtain rod. It rattled softly.
Mr. Malcolm paused mid-sentence.
“Hold on,” he said to whoever was on the call.
He turned. My breath caught. I could see his shadow move closer. His steps were slow, deliberate. He was walking straight toward me. I could almost feel his presence on the other side of the curtain. My throat felt dry, my hands shaking. I died a million times, as I wait for the worst.
Then a voice came from the hallway.
“Oh, you’re home, sir,” Mrs. Chavez said.
He stopped. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry, I wanted to tidy up the place but had a small accident,” she said, sounding tired. “The girls were messing around, and somehow oil spilled. I don’t know how it happened.”
He sighed. “No problem, Mrs. Chavez.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Come with me to the study,” he added. “We need to discuss something important.”
Their footsteps moved away, and the door closed behind them.
I stood there for a few seconds, frozen, before I finally let out the breath I’d been holding. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
I didn’t dare search anymore. I slipped out quickly, locked the door behind me, and tucked the key into my pocket.
As I hurried down the hallway, I whispered, “That was close… God, that was so close.”
If he had opened that curtain… it would’ve been over for me.