Chapter 4 - The Ledger in the Pantry
By mid-afternoon, the house had cleared out for Raphael’s scheduled meetings at the downtown council.
I took advantage of the quiet hours to complete my rounds in the east wing. My mind kept pulling me back to the small alcove beneath the stairs.
When I reached the secondary kitchen, I grabbed a duster and stepped through the back pantry.
I pushed open the sliding wooden partition.
The alcove was empty.
The army-issue wool blanket had been neatly folded and placed at the foot of the daybed. The pillow was fluffed. Everything was in its exact place, as if no one had ever touched it.
Except for one thing.
On the small wooden stool beside the bed sat a black leather notebook.
I stepped into the narrow space and picked it up. It was a thick, bound diary with silver edges.
I shouldn't have opened it. It violated every rule of my employment, every boundary I had built over the last two years to protect myself and my brother.
But my hand moved of its own accord.
I flipped to the last page.
The handwriting was sharp, precise, and unmistakably Raphael’s.
Day 107.
She thinks I don't see her.
She thinks she is invisible because she wears that pale dress and keeps her head down. But every night at 2:00 AM, she sits at that scarred table and fights for her brother's life with every page she turns.
I watched her tonight through the security feed in the study.
She was memorizing pediatric dosages.
Her brother, Micah. Twelve years old. Acute lymphatic leukemia. Needs specialized T-cell therapy at St. Jude's.
She needs $140,000 for the trial.
She has saved $11,420.
If I offer her the money, she will run. She is too proud. She will think it's a trap or a purchase.
I have to make her stay.
My knees went weak. The leather notebook almost slipped from my numb fingers.
He knew.
He knew about Micah. He knew about the medical bills. He knew about the savings account I had bled myself dry to build over twenty-four brutal months.
"You shouldn't be reading that, Clara."
A voice spoke behind me from the shadows of the pantry.
I spun around, slamming the notebook against my chest.
May you like
Raphael was standing in the narrow doorway of the pantry. He had removed his suit jacket, wearing only his white shirt and trousers, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
His gray eyes were intense, unreadable, and fixed entirely on me.
