Chapter 3 - The Contractor’s Mandate
By 7:00 AM sharp the following morning, the quiet atmosphere of the Lake Forest estate was broken by the sharp, metallic whine of an electric saw echoing from the service hallway near the kitchen.
I stood by the kitchen island, holding a cup of black coffee, watching as a middle-aged contractor named Miller—a rugged man with sawdust on his boots and a digital tablet in his hand—directed two workers who were carefully setting up plastic sheeting around the infamous marble threshold.
Anna was standing near the stove, nervously wiping down the stainless steel counters, her eyes occasionally darting over to the construction crew. She looked exhausted, as if she hadn't slept a wink all night, weighed down by the terror that Evelyn’s firing might somehow ripple outward and cost her own job.
I walked over, setting my coffee cup down on the counter near her.
“Anna,” I said.
She jumped slightly, turning around immediately with her hands clasped. “Mr. Moretti? Is something wrong with the breakfast prep? I can start over——”
“The breakfast is fine,” I interrupted gently, keeping my voice level. “Relax.”
She swallowed, nodding slowly. “Thank you, sir. For... for everything yesterday. I know Evelyn’s departure has left the staff disorganized, but I promise the cleaning schedule won't slip——”
“Stop worrying about the schedule, Anna,” I said, cutting her off. “I didn't bring you down here to talk about cleaning quotas.”
Before she could respond, heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway, and Luca appeared, guiding a nervous-looking man in a sharp gray suit through the service entrance.
It was Arthur Vance, my chief legal counsel and head of corporate compliance.
“Boss,” Vance said, nodding briskly as he set a thick leather briefcase down on the marble island. “You wanted the preliminary audit report on the domestic accounts?”
“Let’s hear it,” I said, leaning back against the counter.
Vance flipped open his briefcase, pulled out a stack of itemized financial summaries, and adjusted his glasses.
“We’ve completed the forensic review of Evelyn Crane’s financial records over the last three years,” Vance reported, his tone strictly professional. “The total embezzlement via inflated vendor invoices and phantom maintenance accounts comes out to thirty-two thousand, four hundred dollars. Not just the eight thousand from recent months.”
Anna gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
“Thirty-two thousand,” I repeated quietly. “And where did she keep it?”
“Spread across three different offshore shell accounts and a local credit union box in her maiden name,” Vance replied. “Our recovery team has already seized the domestic accounts through court-ordered emergency injunctions. We’ll recover every cent by Monday.”
“Good,” I said. “Take ten thousand dollars of that recovered embezzled money, put it into a dedicated trust fund for Lily’s medical and educational needs, and make sure the paperwork is drawn up by the end of the day.”
Anna’s knees buckled slightly. She grabbed the edge of the counter to steady herself, tears instantly welling up in her eyes. “Mr. Moretti... no, sir, I couldn't possibly accept—that’s too much——”
“It’s not a gift, Anna,” I said, looking her straight in the eye. “It’s back-pay for an employee who was systematically cheated, harassed, and put at risk in my home under my own roof. Consider it an overdue correction of the ledger.”
Tears spilled over Anna’s eyelashes, tracking down her cheeks as she let out a choked, breathless sob. She reached out blindly, grabbing the edge of my sleeve and pressing her forehead against it for a brief second before pulling back, mortified by her own breach of decorum.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, sir.”
Just then, the electric saw in the hallway stopped whining, followed by the heavy thud of stone being carefully pried away from the floorboards.
Miller, the contractor, walked into the kitchen wiping sweat from his forehead with a rag, holding a heavy piece of jagged white marble in his gloved hands.
“All right, Mr. Moretti,” Miller announced, looking over at me. “The threshold is out. The underlying subfloor is completely clear. We can drop in a custom-milled, zero-grade polished aluminum transition ramp by noon. Completely flush with both floors. A wheelchair, a walker, or a child wearing a heavy orthopedic brace can roll right across it without catching an edge or feeling a single bump.”
I looked down at the empty gap in the floor where the dangerous marble ridge used to be.
“Do it,” I instructed. “Make it seamless.”
“You got it, boss,” Miller grinned, turning back toward his crew.
I picked up my coffee cup, took a slow sip, and glanced at the kitchen clock. It was nearly 8:00 AM.
“Anna,” I said, setting the ceramic cup down. “Where is Lily?”
“She’s... she’s still down in the staff quarters, Mr. Moretti,” Anna said, wiping her face with a clean towel. “I told her to stay put while the construction work started in the hallway.”
“Go get her,” I instructed softly. “Bring her up to the garden patio in twenty minutes. I want her to be the first one to test the new doorway.”
Anna smiled—a wide, radiant expression that completely transformed her tired face. “Yes, sir. Right away.”
As she hurried off down the corridor toward the staff quarters, I turned to Vance and Luca.
May you like
“Finish the asset seizure paperwork,” I told them, walking toward the French doors that led out to the stone terrace. “And let the rest of the staff know that the old rules of this house are officially dead. From now on, safety and decency come before schedules. If anyone has a problem with that, they can pack their bags by noon.”
Luca offered a rare, approving nod. “Consider the message delivered, Boss.”
