Chapter 6 - The Cleansing of the Estate
The harsh red and blue strobe lights of the police cruisers painted the marble walls of the foyer in chaotic patterns. Two uniformed officers and a plainclothes detective stepped through the front entrance, their heavy boots clicking authoritatively against the floor.
Detective Miller, a stern woman with graying hair and sharp, perceptive eyes, nodded to Chadworth. "Mr. Prescott. We received the digital feed your security detail transmitted directly to the precinct."
"The original unedited hard drives are packaged and ready for your team, Detective," Chadworth replied, gesturing to Marcus, who handed over a sealed metallic evidence case. "You'll find continuous footage from twelve internal angles, including audio capture."
Sabina backed away toward the grand piano, her face pale, her hands trembling violently. "This is a setup! He manipulated the footage! He's abusing his power!"
Detective Miller didn't even argue. She walked directly over to Sabina, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from her belt. "Sabina Vance, you are under arrest for corporate espionage, filing a false criminal report, and fraud. You have the right to remain silent..."
As the steel cuffs clicked tightly around Sabina’s wrists, she let out a furious, sharp shriek, struggling against the officer’s grip. "Chadworth! You can't do this! You need me! You're a pathetic, lonely man who can't even manage his own children!"
Chadworth stood tall, his posture unyielding, holding his daughters firmly behind him. He didn't offer a single response to her insults. He simply watched in cold silence as the officers marched her toward the front door.
As Sabina passed Rosamund on the lower steps of the staircase, she stopped for a brief fraction of a second, spitting venomously toward the floor near Rosamund’s shoes. "You pathetic little servant. You think you won? You're still just a maid sweeping up someone else's mess!"
Rosamund looked down at Sabina with quiet, dignified calm. "I have everything I need, Miss Sabina. But you have lost everything."
The officers yanked Sabina forward, leading her out into the bright morning air, shoving her into the back of the police cruiser. The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off her screams, and the car pulled away down the long, winding driveway.
A quiet, profound stillness fell over the mansion.
The remaining domestic staff stood awkwardly in the foyer, looking uncertainly between Chadworth, the broken glass on the floor, and the two young girls still clinging to their father's legs.
Chadworth turned to face his staff. His voice was tired, but clear.
"Arthur," he said to the butler.
"Yes, Mr. Prescott?"
"Have the cleaning team clear away this broken glass immediately. I want every single personal item belonging to Sabina packed into boxes by noon and placed on the curb. If she leaves a single scent, a single shoe, or a single frame behind in this house, I will consider it a failure of management."
"Understood, sir. Right away."
"And Arthur?"
"Sir?"
Chadworth looked around at the assembled housekeepers and chefs. "I know many of you saw how she treated my daughters over the past few months. If any of you felt forced to remain silent out of fear for your jobs, I do not blame you. But from this day forward, any person who disrespects my children or ignores their well-being will be fired instantly. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Mr. Prescott," the staff replied in unison, bowing their heads before quietly dispersing to execute their duties.
Once the hall cleared, only Chadworth, his daughters, and Rosamund remained in the cavernous foyer.
Chadworth turned slowly toward the stairs. His eyes met Rosamund’s.
The silence between them was heavy, filled with two years of unsaid truths, hidden identities, and profound sacrifice.
Chadworth took a step toward the stairs, then stopped. Slowly, deliberately, the billionaire lowered himself to one knee on the cold marble floor—not to his children this time, but in front of the quiet young woman standing on the steps.
Rosamund’s eyes widened in shock. "Mr. Prescott, please... get up."
"No," Chadworth said, his voice thick with overwhelming gratitude and shame. "I sat in that room, Rosamund. I heard you call them 'Sarah's daughters.'"
Rosamund gasped softly, her hand moving to her mouth. She realized instantly that her secret was no longer hidden.
Chadworth looked up at her, tears glistening in his eyes once again. "You are Sarah's foster sister. You are my late wife's family. And for two years, you worked in my house, cleaning my floors, taking insults from a wretched woman... just to watch over my girls."
He bowed his head deeply. "I was blind. I was arrogant. I let suspicion poison my mind because I was too foolish to see the angel standing right in front of me. I don't know how I can ever apologize to you, Rosamund."
Lorelai and Gemma walked up beside their father. Lorelai reached out, taking Rosamund’s hand in her tiny fingers.
"We knew, Dad," Lorelai whispered softly. "Rosamund told us a year ago. She made us promise not to tell you because she didn't want you to feel sad or obligated to pay her extra. She just wanted to be near us."
Chadworth let out a jagged sob, pulling Rosamund’s hand into both of his, pressing it against his forehead in profound reverence.
Rosamund gently stepped down off the stairs, dropping to her knees beside him, placing her other hand on his shoulder.
"Mr. Prescott—Chadworth," Rosamund said softly, her voice warm and steady. "You don't owe me an apology. Sarah was my sister. She gave me a home when I had nothing. When she passed away, I couldn't bear the thought of her daughters growing up without knowing how much she was loved. I didn't come here for money or status. I came here to protect her legacy."
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She looked at the two young girls, who immediately threw their arms around both adults, creating a tight, protective circle in the center of the grand foyer.
"And as long as I am breathing," Rosamund whispered, "this family will never be broken again."
