Chapter 1 - The Maid in the Service Closet
Dominic Mercer aimed the gun at my chest and whispered:
“Don't move.”
Beside my bare feet sat the plastic container of pasta I had brought from home.
A hospital receipt was folded beneath the fork.
BALANCE DUE: $18,740.
Dominic lowered his eyes to the number.
This was not a burglary.
My name was Grace Holloway.
At 3:07 that morning, I was twenty-seven years old, exhausted, hungry, and approximately six seconds away from believing I was going to die inside a billionaire's service closet.
The strange part was that I wasn't supposed to be there.
Not inside the closet.
Not inside Dominic Mercer's penthouse.
Technically, I wasn't even supposed to be working that shift.
Three hours earlier, my supervisor at Sterling Residential Services had called and offered me an emergency overnight assignment.
Triple pay.
Cash bonus.
No questions.
I should have wondered why.
Instead, I thought about my mother.
Friday was payday.
Friday meant another hospital payment.
Another prescription.
Another week in which nobody could tell me that the treatment account had fallen too far behind.
So I had said yes.
Now Dominic Mercer was kneeling six feet away from me with a handgun in his right hand.
I had heard his name before.
Everyone in Manhattan had.
Some people called him an investor.
Some called him a developer.
The newspapers described him as a private-equity executive with interests in hotels, shipping, security, and real estate.
People who worked in luxury residences used different words.
Dangerous.
Connected.
Untouchable.
The kind of man whose enemies sometimes disappeared from boardrooms and whose friends never explained how they became rich.
I stared at the weapon.
Dominic stared at me.
Neither of us moved.
Behind him, several yards away, stood a blonde woman in a burgundy satin dress.
She was beautiful in the expensive, deliberate way that made me suddenly aware I was barefoot and wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt over shorts.
Her arms were crossed.
Her expression wasn't frightened.
It was irritated.
“Dominic,” she said. “Call security.”
His eyes never left mine.
“Who are you?”
“Grace.”
“That wasn't the question.”
“I work here.”
“No, you don't.”
My stomach dropped.
“I clean here.”
“My staff left at midnight.”
“I came with the overnight service.”
His gaze moved toward the cleaning bottles behind me.
Then my food.
Then my phone.
“Who sent you?”
“Sterling Residential.”
The blonde woman stepped closer.
“She's lying.”
I looked at her.
“I am not.”
Dominic's gun rose half an inch.
I immediately regretted speaking.
“Phone,” he said.
“What?”
“Put it down.”
I slowly placed it beside the pasta.
The screen lit up.
ST. VINCENT'S NIGHT DESK.
My breath stopped.
Mom.
Dominic saw my expression change.
“Answer it.”
I looked at him.
“You just told me to put it down.”
“Now I'm telling you to answer.”
My fingers shook as I picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Grace?”
It was Nina, one of the night nurses.
I turned slightly away from Dominic.
“Is she okay?”
There was a pause.
That pause terrified me more than the gun.
“Her blood pressure dropped again.”
I shut my eyes.
“Is she awake?”
“Not right now.”
“What does that mean?”
“We've stabilized her, but the doctor wants to change the medication protocol. Billing is also showing a hold on one of the—”
“No.”
I said it too quickly.
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“Nina, please.”
“Grace—”
“I get paid Friday.”
The words came out smaller than I intended.
“I can bring another payment Friday morning.”
“The billing department isn't open right now. I'm just telling you what the system shows.”
“Please don't let Mom die before payday.”
Silence.
Not from the phone.
From the room.
I realized what I had said.
My eyes opened.
Dominic was still staring at me.
But the gun wasn't pointed at my chest anymore.
He lowered it slowly toward the marble.
Nina spoke gently.
“Grace, we're treating your mother. Money isn't what decides what I do at three in the morning.”
My eyes burned.
“Thank you.”
“I'll call if anything changes.”
I hung up.
I wanted the floor to swallow me.
Dominic looked at the hospital receipt.
“Your mother is sick?”
I nodded.
“How long?”
“Seven months.”
“With what?”
I hesitated.
“That isn't your business.”
The blonde woman laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
“She's sitting inside your private closet at three in the morning, Dominic. I think we've passed the point where privacy matters.”
I looked at her.
Dominic didn't.
“Vivienne.”
One word.
She stopped.
So that was her name.
Dominic returned his attention to me.
“Why are you barefoot?”
I almost laughed.
Of everything happening, that was what he asked?
“My shoes hurt.”
His expression didn't change.
“I've been working since six yesterday morning.”
“You've been working twenty-one hours?”
“I had another job before this one.”
“What job?”
“Hotel housekeeping.”
“And then you came here?”
“Yes.”
“Why hide in the closet?”
“I wasn't hiding.”
He glanced around me.
I sighed.
“Fine. I was hiding for ten minutes.”
“From whom?”
“My supervisor.”
“Why?”
“Because breaks aren't included in emergency assignments.”
Dominic looked at the cold pasta.
“You were eating.”
“Trying to.”
Vivienne stepped forward again.
“This is absurd. Search her.”
My head snapped toward her.
“No.”
Dominic looked over his shoulder.
Vivienne's mouth tightened.
“She could have taken something.”
“I didn't.”
“You expect us to believe you wandered into a private service closet for pasta?”
“I was told this was the staff rest area.”
“By whom?”
“My supervisor.”
Dominic's attention sharpened.
“Name.”
“Elliot Crane.”
For the first time, something unmistakable crossed Dominic's face.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“Say that again.”
“Elliot Crane.”
Vivienne became very still.
Dominic stood.
The gun remained pointed at the floor.
“Describe him.”
“Mid-forties. Gray hair. Thin. Usually wears glasses.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“Sterling.”
“How long has he been your supervisor?”
“About three months.”
Dominic turned toward Vivienne.
They exchanged a look I didn't understand.
“What?” I asked.
Neither answered.
Dominic pulled out his phone.
“Mateo.”
A man's voice answered immediately.
Dominic walked several feet away.
“Find Elliot Crane. Sterling Residential Services. I want everything.”
He listened.
“No. Don't contact him.”
Another pause.
“And lock the elevators.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Why are you locking the elevators?”
Dominic ended the call.
“Because Elliot Crane doesn't work for Sterling Residential.”
I stared at him.
“Yes, he does.”
“No.”
“He hired me.”
“He may have hired you.”
Dominic slipped the gun into the back of his waistband.
“But he doesn't work for Sterling.”
I stood too quickly.
My head spun.
Dominic caught my arm.
I jerked away.
“Don't touch me.”
He released me immediately.
That surprised me.
Vivienne watched us.
Her expression had changed.
It wasn't irritation anymore.
It looked closer to calculation.
Dominic picked up the hospital receipt.
“Why would a stranger send you into my home?”
“I don't know.”
“You've never met me?”
“No.”
“Never worked here?”
“Not before tonight.”
“Did Crane give you anything?”
“Cleaning supplies.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Keys?”
“A service card.”
“Show me.”
My uniform was hanging from a hook behind me.
I had changed into the sweatshirt during my break because somebody had spilled cleaning solution down the front of my dress.
I reached into the apron pocket.
The access card was there.
I handed it to Dominic.
He turned it over.
His expression hardened.
“What?”
He didn't answer.
“Dominic?”
Vivienne came closer.
He held the card beneath the closet light.
Someone had scratched a tiny number onto the back.
Dominic stared at it.
Vivienne whispered, “That's impossible.”
“What does it mean?” I asked.
Dominic looked at her.
“Nothing.”
“That didn't sound like nothing.”
He handed the card to Vivienne.
She studied it.
Her fingers trembled.
Only slightly.
But I noticed.
Dominic noticed too.
“Grace,” he said, “what exactly were your instructions tonight?”
“Clean the west rooms. Don't enter the study. Finish before five.”
“And?”
“That was it.”
“Think.”
I did.
Then I remembered.
“Leave the service elevator unlocked when I finished.”
Dominic's entire posture changed.
“Why?”
“I thought another crew was coming.”
“There is no other crew.”
The penthouse suddenly felt enormous.
And very quiet.
Dominic stepped toward the hallway.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
He turned.
“My mother is in a hospital.”
“You're not leaving.”
“You don't get to decide that.”
“Someone used you to gain access to my home.”
“I didn't know.”
“That's exactly why you're staying.”
I folded my arms.
“You pointed a gun at me ten minutes ago.”
“And I lowered it.”
“That doesn't make this reassuring.”
Something almost like amusement touched his eyes.
It vanished quickly.
“I'll have someone take you to the hospital.”
“I don't need your charity.”
“It's transportation.”
“I know what it is.”
“Then stop arguing.”
Vivienne stared at him.
“You're sending a car?”
“Yes.”
“For her?”
Dominic turned toward her.
“Is there another maid hiding in my closet?”
Vivienne said nothing.
I should have been terrified.
Instead, against all reason, I nearly smiled.
Dominic noticed.
“Something funny?”
“No.”
“You smiled.”
“I definitely didn't.”
He looked at me for another second.
Then a man's voice came through the penthouse intercom.
“Mr. Mercer.”
Dominic pressed the wall control.
“What?”
“We checked the Sterling roster.”
“And?”
“No Grace Holloway was scheduled for this building tonight.”
My stomach turned.
“That isn't possible.”
The voice continued.
“There's more.”
Dominic looked at me.
“What?”
“The service request was entered using an authorization code belonging to someone in your private office.”
Vivienne went pale.
Dominic's voice became dangerously quiet.
“Whose?”
The answer came.
“Yours.”
Nobody moved.
Dominic looked down at the card marked 417.
Then at me.
Then at Vivienne.
I felt suddenly cold.
“I didn't do this.”
“I know,” Dominic said.
Those two words should have comforted me.
They didn't.
Because he sounded certain.
A second phone began ringing.
Not mine.
Dominic's.
He looked at the screen.
Whatever name appeared there erased the last trace of calm from his face.
He answered.
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Then Dominic said:
“Where?”
His eyes found mine.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Don't touch anything.”
He hung up.
“What happened?” I asked.
Dominic walked toward the service door.
He stopped with his hand on the handle.
Then he looked back at me.
“Grace, when was the last time you spoke to your supervisor in person?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“Where?”
“Outside my mother's hospital.”
Dominic went completely still.
My stomach dropped.
He opened the service door.
A security guard stood on the other side holding a photograph.
Dominic took it.
His face hardened.
I couldn't see the picture.
Then he turned it toward me.
The man in the photograph was Elliot Crane.
Except the name printed beneath his face wasn't Elliot Crane.
Dominic pointed to the real name.
I read it once.
Then again.
My breath disappeared.
Because I had seen that name before.
May you like
It was written on the back of an old photograph my mother had kept hidden for twenty-seven years.
And Dominic was already reaching for his phone.
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