Chapter 4 - THE SPY IN THE KITCHEN
By the end of the week, Julian had discharged himself against medical advice, moving his recovery center to his sprawling, fortress-like estate in Palo Alto. He hired a new, independent security firm, firing every guard Arthur had placed on the payroll.
Clara’s role shifted overnight. She was no longer just the chef; Julian mandated she be given a suite in the main house, right down the hall from the master wing. Her salary was quadrupled under the guise of "Executive Caretaker."
Arthur Vance hated it.
"You're making a mistake, Julian," Arthur sneered one evening, nursing a glass of scotch in the estate's library. "Elevating the help? Having a toddler running around the corridors? It makes you look weak. The board is already questioning your mental state after the crash."
Julian sat in a leather wheelchair by the fire, a blanket over his legs, the yellow origami star resting on the side table beside him. "The board will do what I tell them to do, Arthur. And Clara stays. She’s the only reason I’m eating properly."
Arthur scoffed, downing his drink. As he walked out of the library, he cornered Clara in the hallway leading to the kitchen.
"Listen to me, you little opportunist," Arthur hissed, stepping into Clara's personal space, radiating the smell of expensive alcohol and malice. "I don't know what kind of long con you're running, manipulating a brain-damaged man with your brat, but it ends now."
Clara stood her ground, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"I'll give you a check for five hundred thousand dollars tonight," Arthur whispered, pulling a sleek checkbook from his breast pocket. "You pack your bags, take the kid, and disappear. If you don't, I promise you, when I take control of this company next week, I will ruin your life. You'll never find work in this state again."
Clara looked at the check. Half a million dollars. It was more money than she had ever seen. It was safety.
Then she thought of Julian, sitting alone in the dark library. She thought of how he ordered Lily’s favorite strawberry ice cream to be stocked in every freezer. She thought of the terrified man trapped in a coma.
"Keep your money, Mr. Vance," Clara said coldly, stepping around him. "Your brother likes my cooking too much."
Arthur's face twisted into an ugly snarl. "You're going to regret this, you stupid woman."
May you like
He stormed out. But as soon as the front doors slammed shut, Clara reached into her apron pocket and pulled out the small, voice-activated recording device Julian had given her that morning.
The little red light was blinking. She had recorded every single word.
