Chapter 17 - The Trap
Adrian stared at the empty space on his expensive leather desk pad for a long, agonizing moment.
He did not scream, he did not panic, and he certainly did not lose his famously short temper.
Instead, his handsome face settled into a terrifyingly blank, completely unreadable mask of absolute calm.
Thomas stood near the door, desperately trying to keep his breathing steady while waiting for the billionaire to explode with rage.
"You are absolutely certain you saw Grace Miller near my desk, Thomas?" Adrian asked, his voice deathly quiet.
"Yes, Mr. Whitmore, I am absolutely positive it was her," Thomas lied smoothly, bowing his head in a show of false respect.
"She has only been in a position of power for twenty-four hours, and it seems the temptation of your immense wealth was simply too much for her."
Adrian slowly stood up from his antique chair, carefully buttoning the front of his charcoal-gray suit jacket.
"Call the newly appointed head of security and instruct him to lock down the entire estate immediately," Adrian commanded coldly.
"I want every single member of the household staff standing in the basement locker room in exactly five minutes."
Thomas eagerly nodded, a wicked thrill of absolute victory shooting straight down his spine.
Within minutes, the humid, fluorescent-lit basement corridor was packed with terrified, sleepy employees who had been violently dragged from their beds.
Grace stood at the very front of the crowd, wearing her civilian clothes and looking completely bewildered by the sudden emergency assembly.
She had been halfway out the door to visit her little brother at the hospital when the security team forced her back downstairs.
Adrian descended the concrete stairs like a dark shadow, followed closely by a smug, overly confident Thomas.
"A priceless, irreplaceable family heirloom was stolen directly from my private study less than twenty minutes ago," Adrian announced, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.
A loud gasp ripped through the crowded room, followed immediately by terrified whispers and frantic glances.
"My senior butler, Thomas, witnessed a member of this staff lingering near my desk just moments before the theft was discovered," Adrian continued.
He slowly turned his piercing dark eyes toward Grace, who instantly felt the blood entirely drain from her beautiful face.
"Security, conduct a thorough search of Grace Miller's locker and personal belongings," Adrian ordered without a single ounce of emotion.
Grace gasped in absolute horror, her hands flying up to cover her mouth in pure shock.
"Mr. Whitmore, I swear to you, I have not been upstairs since the dinner service ended!" Grace pleaded frantically, tears instantly filling her eyes.
The head of security ignored her cries, stepping forward to violently yank open the metal door of her assigned locker.
He reached inside, completely ignoring her neatly folded uniforms, and pulled out her cheap, worn canvas tote bag.
He unzipped the main compartment and began aggressively dumping the contents directly onto the cold concrete floor.
A hairbrush, a bottle of cheap lotion, and a stack of pediatric hospital bills scattered across the ground.
Then, wrapped carefully inside a faded wool cardigan, a heavy, glittering object hit the floor with a loud, metallic clink.
The unmistakable, blinding sparkle of the vintage platinum Rolex Daytona stared back at the entire horrified room.
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The basement went so incredibly silent that you could hear the harsh buzzing of the overhead fluorescent lights.
Grace collapsed to her knees, staring at the million-dollar watch in absolute, paralyzing devastation as her entire new life shattered into a million pieces.
