Chapter 4: The Woman at the Table
The dining room had settled into the comfortable rhythm of expensive conversation — the kind where no one says anything real and everyone pretends it counts.
Madison was at the far end of the table, one hand resting on her wine glass, the other gesturing lightly as she spoke.
She was telling a story about a charity gala in the Hamptons.
The investors were laughing at the right moments.
Ethan walked in and stood at the head of the table.
The laughter slowed.
"Forgive me," he said.
"I need to borrow Madison for a moment."
She looked up.
Her smile didn't change.
"Of course." She set down her glass, touched the shoulder of the man beside her, and followed Ethan into the study.
He closed the door.
"What's wrong?" she said.
She was already adjusting her tone — softening it, tilting her head slightly, the posture she used when she wanted to appear concerned.
"I just came from the storage room."
A pause.
Very small.
"Oh?"
"Clara is up there with a bruised face.
Lily told me what happened."
Madison let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"Ethan.
You went upstairs because the housekeeper's child called you?
During a dinner with the Hargrove Group?"
"I went upstairs because a five-year-old told me her mother was bl00ding."
"She's five.
Children exaggerate." Madison crossed her arms, but loosely, as if the whole conversation were slightly beneath her.
"Clara walked into a cabinet door.
I was there.
It was an accident.
And frankly, I'm a little concerned about the way that woman lets her daughter wander through the main house unsupervised.
I've spoken to her about it twice."
"You tore up Lily's drawing."
"I removed a piece of paper from the sitting room floor.
It wasn't appropriate for it to be there."
"Madison."
"Ethan, I understand you feel responsible for the staff.
That's admirable.
But you cannot run a household if you treat every minor incident as a crisis.
Clara is an employee.
She is not your family."
He looked at her for a moment.
"Daniel Reeves has camera footage from the east corridor," he said.
"From this evening."
Something shifted in her face.
It was fast — a quarter-second tightening around the eyes — and then it was gone, replaced by the same smooth, patient expression.
But he had seen it.
"I'm sure whatever it shows will confirm exactly what I've told you," she said.
"I'm sure it will show me something," he said.
She uncrossed her arms.
"You're being dramatic."
"Go back to the table, Madison.
Tell them I'll be another few minutes."
"Ethan—"
"Please."
She held his gaze for three seconds.
Then she turned, opened the study door, and walked back toward the dining room.
Her posture was perfect.
Her stride was unhurried.
Ethan waited until her footsteps faded.
Then he took out his phone and called Daniel.
"Send me the footage," he said.
"All of it.
Starting from October fifteenth."
There was a brief silence on the other end.
"All of it going back to October?" Daniel said.
"Yes."
Another pause.
"Ethan.
Some of what I have — it isn't just from tonight."
Ethan sat down in the leather chair behind his desk.
Outside the study window, rain was still hitting the glass in long diagonal lines.
"Send it," he said.
The first file arrived forty seconds later.
He pressed play.
The timestamp in the corner read October 19th.
The east corridor, 2:14 in the afternoon.
The frame was slightly wide, catching the edge of the sitting room doorway.
He watched for eleven seconds.
Then he set the phone face-down on the desk and sat very still.
He picked it up again.
Watched the rest.
When it ended, he sat without moving for a long time.
May you like
He had six weeks of footage waiting.
He started at the beginning.
