“That’s terrible.” “And they still weren’t done,” Arsen said. “Not long after that, someone came at me with a knife outside my office.”
To prove it, he unbuttoned his shirt just enough to show two ugly scars near his heart. “I got lucky again. A few inches over, and I’d be under that stone for real.” Julia looked at the scars and said nothing for a moment.
“You’ve had more than your share of close calls,” she said quietly. Arsen gave a short nod toward the memorial. “That’s why I staged the crash off the bridge. It cost me a lot to make it convincing, but now they think I’m at the bottom of the river. That gives me time to gather proof and hit back the right way.”
He accepted the wallet from her with clear relief. “I’m sorry,” Julia said. “The documents looked too new, and I knew something was off, so I waited.” “You did the smart thing,” he said with a faint smile. “I come here to remind myself what’s at stake.”
Julia felt an immediate sympathy for him. “Can’t you just go to the police?” she asked. “Not yet,” Arsen said. “What I have is mostly circumstantial. They were careful.”
She understood that kind of helplessness all too well. Her late husband had owned a profitable furniture company too, and after his death the business had somehow collapsed almost overnight. Julia had long believed her in-laws had pushed her into prison so they wouldn’t have to share a dime of the estate.
She gave Arsen a brief version of her own story, and he listened closely. Then something sharpened in his expression. “Julia,” he said, “I may have a proposal that could help both of us.”
She stiffened immediately. “If it involves anything illegal, the answer is no.” “Nothing illegal,” he said. “I need someone inside my stepmother’s house—someone who can keep her eyes open and find documents from the family safe.”
“You want me to work there?” Julia asked. “As a housekeeper,” he said. “I believe there are records proving they may have killed my father too.”
“Who’s going to hire a housekeeper who’s this pregnant?” she asked. “People like them love cheap labor,” Arsen replied. “Ask for almost nothing, and they’ll say yes. Their last housekeeper quit recently.”
After weighing the risk, Julia agreed. She truly had little to lose, and a room plus regular meals would make all the difference. She wisely left out any mention of her prison record. The Strickland estate turned out to be a fortress—high walls, security cameras, and guards at the gate.
Her interview with the stepmother, Susan Strickland, was conducted with the kind of chilly superiority that made Julia feel less like a person and more like a household appliance. Every instinct told her to turn around and leave, but she stayed focused on why she was there.
“You’ll have one day off a week,” Susan said, looking her over with hard, appraising eyes. “I don’t tolerate sloppiness. If your work slips, you’re gone.” “Understood,” Julia said. “I’ll do the job right.”
The work was exhausting. The Stricklands found fault with everything and treated staff like they were disposable. Arsen’s stepbrother, Oleg, turned out to be a spoiled, aimless man who started drinking expensive liquor before noon.
