Chapter 5

Hazel's POV

That afternoon, Victoria ordered me to carry a heavy stack of freshly washed drapes up to the second floor.

I was holding a pile so high it blocked my vision. As I passed Richard's study, I noticed the door wasn't fully closed.

Richard's voice drifted out.

"The collapse at Mine No. 3 can't be delayed any longer. The official accident report must be submitted to the federal inspectors tomorrow."

The mine manager's anxious voice followed. "But Thomas's family is still making noise. His wife went to the mine entrance again yesterday. She's claiming Thomas warned the supervisor about the rotting support beams before he went down."

Thomas.

Hearing my father's name, my feet felt like they were glued to the floor. My blood ran cold.

"What can a dead man do?" Richard sneered inside the room. "Write the report. Put all the blame on him. Say he ignored safety protocols, went down without clearance, and bypassed the safety locks. Make it sound as bad as possible."

"But some of the guys on his shift actually heard him complain about the equipment..."

"So what?" Richard slammed his glass onto the desk, his voice turning deadly cold. "He is buried under tons of rock. The living still need to eat. Change the report."

The manager paused, then whispered, "And what about his family?"

"Give them a ten-thousand-dollar settlement," Richard dismissed. "If she thinks it is too little, tell her to sue. A broke widow with a minor kid. What is she going to do? But keep an eye on the daughter living in our house. Make sure no one leaks this to her."

The heavy drapes pressed hard against my chest. The rough fabric rubbed against the fresh scar on my hand, making my fingers tremble.

My father, an honest miner who had worked hard his entire life, didn't die in an unavoidable accident.

He was buried alive because of their greed, and even in death, they were framing him to cover up their own crimes.

And the murderer was sitting right behind that mahogany desk, using ten thousand dollars to buy off a man's life.

Two silent, freezing tears rolled down my cheeks, soaking into the drapes.

I bit my lip hard, pressing my back against the wall, holding my breath so tightly my lungs burned.

"Should we use the old company seal for the signature page?" the manager asked.

"Yes," Richard replied. "Don't give the other miners too much hush money either, or it'll look suspicious. The Thomas family is the trickiest part. Keep a close eye on the girl."

Footsteps started moving toward the door.

I snapped out of my shock and tried to scramble backward with the heavy drapes.

In my panic, my shoulder collided with a warm, solid chest.

The drapes slipped from my arms, but before they could hit the floor, a pair of strong arms caught them.

I looked up in terror, meeting Ethan's dark, intense eyes.

I didn't know how long he had been standing behind me. He looked past me at the slightly ajar study door. "What are you doing here?"

I quickly forced my tears back, grabbing the drapes back into my arms, my fingers shaking uncontrollably. "Mrs. Vance asked me to bring up the drapes... I got lost."

Ethan stared at my red eyes. His expression was a storm of unreadable emotions. "This is my dad's study," he whispered.

"I know now."

I kept my head down, not daring to look him in the eyes, and practically ran toward the stairs.

Behind us, the conversation in the study stopped.

That night, the entire Vance family went out to a charity gala. Even the head housekeeper was called to help.

The entire mansion was as empty and silent as a tomb.

I waited in my dark room until the sound of their cars faded into the distance.

I opened my eyes, reached under my cot, and pulled out a thin piece of wire and a rusty screwdriver.

My father had taught me how to use these to bypass simple locks when we lived in the old cabin.

Like a cat, I slipped up to the second floor.

The lock on Richard's study was simple. With a soft click, the door swung open.

I shut the door behind me. I didn't dare turn on the lights. Using only the faint moonlight spilling through the window, I crept toward the mahogany desk and pulled at the third drawer on the right.

The manager had mentioned that's where the "special files" were kept.

I wiggled the wire into the lock. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, and my palms were slick with sweat.

The lock clicked.

The drawer slid open.

Inside, there were several thick, leather-bound ledgers.

I didn't mess them up. Instead, I took a photo of how they were arranged with my phone first. Then, I pulled them out one by one.

Hidden between the pages of the ledger, I found the accident report sheets with the old company seal.

On the liability page, my father's name, Thomas, was circled heavily in black ink.

Right next to it, it read: Cause of death: Employee negligence. Bypassed safety protocols. Solely responsible for the incident.

Staring at those words, my fingers dug into the paper.

They buried my father in the dark, and then they threw their dirt onto his name.

I forced myself to stay calm. I raised my phone and lined up the camera.

The accident reports, the forged signatures, the off-the-books bank transfers. I photographed every single page, clear as day.

The wind rattled the windowpane outside, and I froze, holding my breath for several agonizing seconds.

Once I was sure the yard was empty, I finished taking photos of the last page.

I put everything back exactly the way it was.

As I locked the drawer back up, the wire caught slightly, almost making a sound.

I pressed my palm hard against the wood, slowly easing the lock back into place.

Back in my room, I plugged my phone into my laptop.

The blue screen light illuminated my pale, cold face. As the photos imported, I created a new encrypted folder. I named it with just a date.

The date appeared on the desktop. It looked completely harmless, hiding the explosive secrets within.

Once the transfer was complete, I opened the first photo.

My father's name, Thomas, was enlarged on the screen. The black ink looked like a scar on the white paper.

I closed the folder and backed up the files to a hidden cloud drive.

The laptop fan whirred softly. The Vances weren't back yet.

From that day on, I had a new chore in the Vance house.

I began tracking every time Richard entered his study.

How many times the mine manager visited.

Which way the key turned in the desk lock.