Chapter 6 - THE SERVICE ENTRANCE
The silence in the room was completely different now.
It wasn't the silence of shock. It was the silence of justice happening right in front of us.
I looked at Lorraine Whitcomb.
Her silver silk dress, the diamonds, the perfectly coiffed hair—none of it hid how small and pathetic she suddenly looked.
“You can’t do this to me,” Lorraine hissed, pointing a shaking finger at Luca. “I know people in this city.”
“So do I,” Luca replied, his voice devoid of any emotion. “And my people don’t steal from widows.”
He looked at me and gave a small nod.
I took a deep breath.
I walked up to the woman who had tried to fire me ten minutes ago.
“Mrs. Whitcomb,” I said, keeping my voice professional and calm. “Right this way, please.”
She glared at me with pure hatred.
“Don’t touch me, you little nothing.”
She turned on her heel and began marching toward the front doors of the ballroom.
“Not those doors,” Luca’s voice stopped her.
He pointed toward the back of the room, behind the heavy velvet curtains.
“The service elevators are that way. Rachel will show you.”
Lorraine’s face contorted in humiliation.
She looked at her husband. Richard had turned his back to her, watching Daniel comfort Caroline on the floor.
She looked at the guests. Two hundred of Chicago’s elite, all staring at her with disgust.
With a stiff, jerky motion, she turned and walked toward the back of the room.
I followed her.
We pushed through the heavy doors into the back hallway. The transition was jarring. From the sparkling chandeliers of the ballroom to the fluorescent lights and stainless steel walls of the staff corridors.
We walked past the dishwashing station. Past the prep cooks who stopped chopping vegetables to stare at the wealthy woman in silver silk being escorted by a maid.
“Keep walking,” I said softly when she hesitated.
We reached the loading dock at the back of the kitchen.
Two uniformed police officers were waiting there, alongside Luca’s head of security.
“Lorraine Whitcomb?” one of the officers asked.
She didn't answer. She just stared straight ahead, her jaw clenched.
“Ma’am, we have a warrant for your arrest on charges of extortion, fraud, and grand larceny. Please turn around and place your hands behind your back.”
As the officer clicked the handcuffs around her wrists, Lorraine finally looked at me.
“You think you’ve won?” she sneered. “You’re still just a maid cleaning toilets.”
I didn't feel angry anymore. I just felt pity.
“Maybe,” I said. “But my mother raised a daughter who knows how to treat people. Yours raised a daughter who just realized she has to apologize for you for the rest of her life.”
The officers led her out to the waiting squad car.
I stood in the cold draft of the loading dock for a moment, letting out a breath I felt like I’d been holding for an hour.
When I pushed back through the doors into the ballroom, the scene had completely changed.
The tension had broken.
Caroline was standing now, wiping her face with the white handkerchief Daniel had brought for his mother.
Richard Whitcomb was speaking quietly to Patricia.
“I will make this right,” Richard was saying, his voice thick with emotion. “Every cent she took from you, with interest. And the house. I’ll sign the deed over to you entirely. It’s the least I can do.”
Patricia shook her head slowly.
“I don't want your money, Richard. I just want my son to be happy.”
She looked at Caroline.
“Caroline, sweetheart. Come here.”
Caroline hesitated, then walked over. She looked terrified that Patricia was going to reject her.
Instead, Patricia reached out and pulled the young bride into a fierce hug.
“You are not your mother,” Patricia whispered fiercely. “Do you hear me? You are the woman my son chose. You are my daughter now.”
Caroline broke down sobbing again, burying her face in Patricia’s shoulder.
Daniel walked over to Luca.
“Mr. Moretti. I don't know how to thank you. You saved my family today.”
Luca shook his head.
“I didn't do anything, Daniel.”
He nodded toward me as I walked back down the aisle.
“She did.”
Everyone turned to look at me.
I suddenly felt very self-conscious in my black-and-white uniform.
Luca walked over to me.
“Rachel, your shift ended twenty minutes ago.”
I swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “Go clock out. Then come back.”
I frowned. “Come back?”
Luca smiled. It was the first genuine smile I’d seen on him all day.
“Yes. There’s an empty seat in the front row. And I believe the bride and groom need a witness.”
Before I could process what he was saying, Caroline pulled away from Patricia and walked toward me.
She reached out and took my hands.
But as she did, her sleeve caught on a small silver locket I wore around my neck—a cheap thing my mother had given me.
The locket snapped open, and a tiny, faded photograph fluttered to the floor.
Richard Whitcomb, who was standing right next to us, bent down to pick it up.
He looked at the picture.
May you like
And all the color drained from his face.
“Where did you get this?” Richard whispered, staring at me.
