Heir in a Servant’s Uniform
Chapter 08 - Heir in a Servant’s Uniform
By afternoon, the DNA results had become international news. Hawthorne Hospitality shares rose, fell, then rose again as commentators argued about inheritance law, corporate control, and fairy-tale bloodlines.
Designers sent gowns. Networks offered interviews. A jeweler delivered a diamond bracelet “for the new Hawthorne.” Elena returned every package.
She remained in her gray uniform.
At a press conference outside the mansion, Thomas announced only that the family relationship had been confirmed and that an investigation into Amelia’s disappearance was underway. Vivienne asked Elena to stand beside her.
“I do not know how to do this,” Elena whispered.
“Neither did I the first time,” Vivienne said. “The secret is to speak to one honest person, even when a hundred dishonest ones are listening.”
Elena faced the cameras. “Yesterday I was invisible to most of the people now asking for my story. I am still the same woman. I do not know what I will inherit, and I will not discuss it while questions remain about my mother. I only want the truth.”
A reporter shouted, “Will you take Celeste Vale’s place?”
Elena looked toward an upstairs window where Celeste stood behind the curtain.
“No one should be treated as a place to fill.”
The answer spread faster than the DNA headline.
Inside, Celeste watched strangers praise Elena’s dignity. Every compliment felt like a theft. She opened a message from a gossip columnist who had once begged for invitations to her parties.
Send proof the maid planned this, and I can change the narrative.
Celeste went to Elena’s attic room while the household gathered downstairs. In the bottom drawer, she found a worn envelope containing foster records, rejection letters, and a photograph of Elena at sixteen outside a group home.
There was no scheme. No hidden wealth. No evidence of preparation.
Then she found a small business card from an investigative reporter named Noah Grant, dated two years earlier. On the back he had written: Call me if you ever want to learn why St. Agnes erased you.
Celeste photographed it.
When she turned, Beatrice stood in the doorway.
“Searching a servant’s room was acceptable to you yesterday,” the old housekeeper said. “Searching your cousin’s room today is still theft.”
Celeste slipped the phone into her pocket. “She is not my cousin.”
“Blood says otherwise.”
Celeste moved past her. “Blood can be edited in the public mind.”
May you like
Beatrice watched her leave and knew the next attack would not happen in the ballroom.
It would happen everywhere.
