The heavy mahogany doors closed behind Victoria as the security team escorted her off the multi-million-dollar property. Clara remained standing in the center of the study, the heavy weight of the afternoon's trauma finally catching up to her. Richard poured two glasses of scotch from the crystal decanter, offering one across the desk to Clara with a softened expression.
Richard: I owe you an apology, Clara. I let my stepmother poison my judgment about the staff.
Clara took the glass hesitantly, her fingers brushing against his as she took a small, stabilizing sip.
Clara: An apology doesn't quite fix being accused of attempted murder, Mr. Vance.
Richard sighed deeply, leaning back against the edge of his desk while running a hand through his hair.
Richard: I know. But you stayed. You jumped into the freezing water without a second thought to save my boy.
Clara looked down at the amber liquid in her glass, a bittersweet smile touching the corners of her lips.
Clara: Because little Leo didn't ask to be born into this chaotic, ruthless billionaire family.
Richard raised an eyebrow, struck by the unexpected boldness in the young woman standing before him.
Richard: Most maids would have packed their bags and run away at the first sign of trouble.
Clara set her glass down firmly on the wood, meeting his intense gaze with unwavering confidence.
Clara: I'm not most maids, Mr. Vance. And I have my own reasons for working in this house.
Richard's expression shifted from gratitude to sharp curiosity as he straightened up immediately.
Richard: What is that supposed to mean, Clara? What kind of reasons?
Clara reached into the pocket of her uniform jacket and pulled out a faded, folded legal document.
Clara: It means this estate was stolen from my family thirty years ago through a fraudulent corporate takeover.
Richard stared at the aged paper in her hand, his breath catching in his throat as the pieces started aligning.
Richard: Let me see that document, Clara. Right now.
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