Chapter 3 - The Dinner Party of the DamnedWhen I walked through the front door of our Oak Brook home at 6:30 PM, the smell of roast chicken and rosemary filled the air.
Alex was standing by the kitchen island, loosening his silk tie, holding a glass of cabernet. He looked tired, the picture of the dedicated CEO carrying the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, walking over to press a soft, practiced kiss against my cheek. “How was your day? Look, I ordered wine. I know you’ve been stressed lately with the client accounts.”
I smiled—a smile that felt so natural it terrified me.
“It was a long day, honey,” I said, stepping away to wash my hands. “How was work? Did you finish those contracts for Bennett Commercial?”
“Always do,” he said, laughing softly as he poured me a glass of wine. “You know how it is. Supply chain issues are a nightmare right now. Honestly, I don't know what I’d do without you keeping me grounded.”
As he spoke, my eyes drifted to the mudroom door. The floor was spotless. Theresa’s gray uniform was gone, replaced by a neat pile of her folded rags in the utility basket.
“Oh, by the way,” Alex added casually, taking a sip of his wine. “Mom called earlier. She said she stopped by yesterday to drop off some paperwork and noticed the house was a bit messy. She offered to send a professional cleaning crew next week so you don’t have to worry about hiring someone new after Theresa left.”
My hand tightened around the stem of my wine glass.
Grace hadn’t “stopped by.” She had conducted an inspection. And Alex knew it. He knew she had been there, he knew she had terrorized our housekeeper into quitting, and he was framing it as a sweet, motherly favor.
“That’s very thoughtful of her,” I replied smoothly, keeping my voice completely level. “Did she mention how Theresa’s departure happened?”
Alex hesitated for a split second—just a micro-second of tension in the muscles around his jaw.
“Not really. Just said the girl wasn't cutting it anymore. Too lazy, I think. Mom has high standards, you know that.”
“Yes,” I said, meeting his eyes across the marble island. “Grace always has such high standards for everyone around her.”
Before Alex could answer, the doorbell chimed.
He frowned, glancing at his watch. “Are we expecting someone?”
“I invited a few guests,” I said, walking toward the front hallway. “Family dinner, Alex. You love family dinners.”
I pulled open the front door.
Grace stood on the porch in a cream Chanel jacket, her silver hair coiffed to perfection, holding a bottle of expensive champagne. Behind her stood Fern, chewing gum and scrolling through her phone.
And standing directly behind them, leaning heavily on a wooden cane with her son standing nervously by her side in a cheap nursing school jacket, was Theresa Walker.
Alex stepped into the hallway behind me, his easygoing smile vanishing instantly as his eyes landed on Theresa.
“What is the meaning of this?” Alex snapped, his voice dropping its warm, marital cadence and reverting to the cold, authoritative tone of a man used to giving orders.
Grace dropped her pleasant expression, her thin lips tightening into a hard line as she glared at Theresa. “Sarah, what is this woman doing back here? I told you, she’s incompetent. She dropped my crystal vase and tracked mud all over the entryway.”
I didn't step aside. I stood in the doorway, blocking their path, holding my wine glass in one hand while my other hand rested inside my coat pocket, clutching my phone, which was currently recording audio straight to David’s secure cloud server.
“Grace,” I said, my voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling of the foyer. “Theresa didn't come back to clean your shoes. She came back to collect something.”
“And what would that be? Her final check?” Fern scoffed, stepping past her mother. “Honestly, Sarah, why are you making such a big deal out of a hired help walking out? Mother was just trying to help her learn how to maintain a proper home.”
“A proper home,” I repeated softly.
I turned my head and looked at Alex. The color had completely drained from his face. He wasn't looking at Theresa. He was looking at me—really looking at me—for the first time in years, realizing that the docile, quiet wife he thought he had mastered had suddenly slipped her leash.
“Alex,” I said, my eyes locked on his. “Why don't you tell your mother and sister what happens when people work in this house?”
Grace bristled, stepping forward with her chin raised. “How dare you speak to my son that way in his own home? Alexander, control your wife. I will not be spoken to like a common criminal in front of—”
“In his home?” I interrupted, my voice cutting through the foyer like a razor blade.
I pulled my hand out of my pocket and set my phone down on the entry table, pressing play on the video clip I had downloaded from the security system basement dashboard twenty-four hours earlier.
The high-definition audio filled the silent hallway.
“If you don't get this silk out by noon, Mother won't pay your weekly bonus. And you know what happens when Mother doesn't pay.”
Fern’s voice rang out clearly from the speaker, followed by Grace’s sharp, rhythmic tapping of her diamond bracelet against the counter as she berated Theresa for kneeling on the floor.
The air in the hallway froze.
Grace’s face turned the color of chalk. Fern stopped chewing her gum, her mouth hanging open as she stared at the phone.
May you like
Alex lunged forward, his hand shooting out to grab the phone, but I sidestepped him with practiced ease.
“Don't touch it, Alex,” I said, my voice as cold as arctic ice. “That’s evidence. Along with the forty million dollars sitting in Apex Holdings LLC, registered under your father’s Social Security number, funding your secret family in Geneva.”
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