Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Ledger
By Thursday, the surveillance had become an addiction. Marcus found himself canceling morning meetings just to sit at his desk with his headphones on, watching the mundane routines of his own household. He was searching for the crack in Pia’s armor—the moment the sweet, patient facade dropped and revealed a woman looking for an easy paycheck in a wealthy mansion.
Instead, he found anomalies that didn't make sense.
At 1:30 PM, while Ben was taking his scheduled nap, Pia did not take her break. She didn't sit on her phone or browse the internet as the previous nannies had done. The camera in the study showed her sitting at the small wooden desk near the library doors. She pulled a thick leather-bound notebook from her worn backpack, along with a stack of receipts and medical invoices.
Marcus zoomed the camera lens in as far as the high-definition resolution would allow. The text on the invoices was blurred, but he could clearly read the red-lettered heading at the top of the bills: St. Jude’s Neurological Institute - Past Due Notice.
Pia rested her forehead in her hand, her shoulders slumping in a rare moment of visible exhaustion. For five minutes, she sat in absolute silence, her posture carrying a weight that seemed far too heavy for her twenty-nine years. Then, as if sensing the march of time, she took a deep breath, slapped her cheeks gently to bring back her color, tucked the medical papers back into her bag, and stood up. By the time she walked out into the hallway to check on Ben, her expression was once again completely calm and reassuring.
Marcus tapped his desk with a heavy pen. She cares for her mother, she had told him during the interview. She’s ill.
He opened his main computer interface and pulled up Pia’s background check—the one prepared by his corporate security team prior to her hiring. It was clean. No criminal record, solid references, clear employment history. But looking at it now, Marcus realized how superficial it was. It told him where she had worked, but it didn't explain why a woman with an advanced degree in early childhood development from state university was working as a day nanny for middle-class families instead of running a prestigious preschool.
He clicked a button on his desk phone, connecting to his chief of security, Vance.
"Vance," Marcus said, his voice clipped. "I need a deeper financial and personal dive on Pia McKenzie."
"Did something happen at the house, Mr. Delgado?" Vance asked instantly. "Should I send a vehicle?"
"No," Marcus said quickly. "Nothing has happened. She is... performing her duties well. I just want a full picture of her financial liabilities. Specifically medical debts related to her mother. I want to know who she owes, how much, and what hospital is holding those accounts."
"Understood, sir. I'll have the report by tomorrow afternoon."
Marcus hung up, feeling a slight twinge of guilt. Investigating an employee's private medical hardships felt invasive, even for him. But he told himself it was about leverage. If she was drowning in medical debt, she might be vulnerable to bribery, or she might eventually attempt to steal from the house. He needed to be three steps ahead.
That evening, Marcus arrived home at 6:30 PM—thirty minutes earlier than usual. He stepped into the foyer, his polished leather shoes clicking on the marble floor.
The house was extraordinarily quiet, but it didn't feel dead. The faint scent of roasted chicken and fresh herbs lingered in the air, replacing the sterile, bleached smell that Maria usually left behind.
He walked into the living room. Pia was sitting on the rug next to Ben. They were looking at a large photo album—an album Marcus recognized with a sudden, violent jolt in his chest. It was Victoria’s personal photo album, the one he had locked away in the bottom shelf of the library cupboard months ago.
"What is that?" Marcus's voice cut through the warm room like a blade of ice.
Both Pia and Ben looked up. Ben shrank back slightly, sensing the immediate shift in the room's temperature. Pia remained seated, holding the open book calmly in her lap.
"Good evening, Mr. Delgado," Pia said softly.
Marcus strode across the room, his long legs crossing the space in seconds. He reached down and snatched the album from her hands, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the leather spine. "Where did you get this? Who gave you permission to go through my private cabinets?"
"Daddy, don't," Ben whimpered from the floor, his little voice trembling. "I asked her."
Marcus looked down at his son, his breath coming fast and shallow. "You asked her?"
"Ben found the key in the study drawer while we were looking for drawing paper," Pia explained, standing up slowly so she met Marcus at eye level. Her voice was steady, but her eyes held a stern, protective fire. "He recognized the binding. He wanted to see his mother, Mr. Delgado."
"This is not your place," Marcus spat, ignoring Ben's wide, frightened eyes. "You were hired to follow a schedule, feed him, and keep him safe. You do not dig through my wife's belongings. You do not reopen wounds in this house!"
"Hiding her picture doesn't close the wound, sir," Pia said, stepping between Marcus and the boy. Her tone wasn't aggressive, but it was unyielding. "It just leaves him to bleed in the dark. He needs to remember her."
"How dare you tell me what my son needs!" Marcus roared, his corporate composure entirely breaking down. The anger that had been festering inside him for eight months—the rage at the universe, at the drunk driver who took Victoria, at the empty mansion—found an outlet in this twenty-nine-year-old nanny. "You've been in this house for three days! You know nothing about my family! You are an employee!"
"Then fire me," Pia said plainly.
The sentence hung in the air, sudden and absolute.
Marcus stopped breathing. He stared at her. Her brown eyes were completely clear. There was no fear in them, no anger, only a profound, devastating sadness—not for herself, but for him.
"Fire me," she repeated quietly. "If looking at your wife's memory hurts you so much that you would rather your son forget her face than face your own pain, then fire me right now. Call another nanny. Hire number fourteen."
Marcus gripped the photo album so tightly the leather creaked. He looked down at Ben, who was sitting on the floor with tears silently streaming down his cheeks, staring up at his father as if Marcus were a terrifying stranger.
The silence stretched for ten painful seconds. The house felt vast, cold, and entirely fragile.
May you like
Marcus swallowed hard, his throat dry as dust. He turned his eyes back to Pia. He wanted to order her out of the house. He wanted to assert his authority as the master of Vlysse. But as he looked at his crying son, he knew with absolute, terrifying clarity that if Pia walked out that door tonight, something in Ben would break permanently.
Without another word, Marcus turned on his heel, holding the photo album tightly against his chest, and walked out of the room, ascending the grand staircase into the dark isolation of his master suite.
