Madame Chloe's Stiletto Heels

Enjoy my story published in the What If #3 Anthology 

The Anthology Series

The sound of Madame Chloe’s red stiletto heels in the hallways would quiet the students and teachers. When she walked by, an icy chill filled the air.

Sara, a sixteen-year-old brunette with an athletic physique, was a new student at Hillcrest Boarding School. She was unhappy to leave her friends behind, but her father insisted on moving her to a more prestigious school. “The last two years are most critical before continuing your education,” he said. “And Hillcrest is the finest. Nearly all of their students get into reputable universities.”

Her parents were impressed by Madame Chloe, the school principal, especially her mother who embraced her role as a socialite in high society circles. At their meeting, Madame Chloe dressed impeccably in expensive and fashionable name-brand outfits, and the way she presented herself and the school's achievements instantly won them over.

At first, Sara found the principal charming as well. However, as the conversation progressed, the way Madame Chloe’s eyes darted to her and scanned her entire body, made her uncomfortable. Despite the flashing of those dark brown eyes only lasting for a split second, Sara sensed something sinister behind the pleasant exterior of the woman’s lovely smile, pristine clothes, manicured nails, and flawless hairstyle.

Sara always listened to her gut feelings and begged her parents not to make her change schools, but her parents, visibly mesmerized by the principal’s performance, made their final decision despite Sara's weak objections. “You know nothing about life! Gut feelings are not reliable,” her mother shouted. “The school’s reputation is impeccable. You’re going to be a student there, and that's final.”

Sara gave in and hesitantly accepted her parents' decision and moved into her new school's dorm at Hillcrest. Knowing that every school has its social hierarchy, she thought she would need some time to fit in and catch up. However, it soon became apparent that this school was different from others.

There was no hierarchy among teachers or students. There were subordinates and only one top dog: the principal and history professor, Madame Chloe. Her authority and dominance were obvious as she walked in her signature bright red stiletto-heel shoes, her cold eyes darting from student to student. The sound of those heels in the hallways would quiet the students and even the fellow teachers. When she walked past, a chill filled the air. Her presence commanded fear and obedience from everyone around her. Sara couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to have that kind of authority and influence over so many people.

Madame Chloe ruled with an iron fist and Sara soon heard rumors that her physical fist brutally broke several bones over the years. Students had no one to report the physical abuse to, and unfortunately, by the time they were allowed to see their parents, their injuries had healed. Because of the school's reputation and the highly respected principal's words against the students, people dismissed the complaints as childish rumors. The injured students had no proof.

Although Sara had a hard time keeping her rebellious nature under control, she kept quiet while keeping her eyes and ears open. Until… about two weeks into the school year, she stood by her locker across from Madame Chloe's office when she saw her classmate, a petite blonde girl staggering out of the room. Vera sobbed pressing her hand to her side, visibly in pain.

Sara followed her into the bathroom, where two girls stood by the sink and hugged the crying girl.

“You’ll be alright,” Kate, a dark-skinned statuesque girl whispered, wiping Vera’s tears.

“I can’t take it anymore!” Vera cried. “This was the third time this week and she didn’t even tell me why I deserved such a harsh punishment. My leg is still bruised where she kicked me two days ago.” She rolled down her knee-high socks. She gasped and stood up, her face contorting in pain. She held her side. “I think she broke my ribs this time,” she sobbed.

Mary, a plump redhead, huffed. “She’s a cruel sadist! She yanked my hair so hard yesterday that she pulled out a strand and my scalp bled all afternoon. All because when the monster said, ‘eyes on your books’ I looked at Vera.”

“Why doesn't anyone do something about this?” Sara asked, closely watching the group's reaction.

“What can we do? We can’t prove anything,” Kate shrugged despairingly, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Nobody believes us, not even our parents.”

“What about the teachers?” Sara questioned.

Mary shook her curly hair. “They know what’s happening but are too scared to say anything. The only teacher who was brave enough to gather evidence against this monster disappeared before you got here.”

“What do you mean by disappeared? Did she leave school?” Sara asked. The three girls seemed to sense Sarah’s authoritative yet compassionate nature and opened up.

“Oh, no,” Kate shivered and said, “Miss Clara was in my room that night, taking pictures of my bruised ribs and listened to the tape I recorded on the small device she gave me. I hid the recorder in my underwear and turned it on when I was ordered to Madame Chloe’s room. She beat me so badly that day... the more I screamed and begged her to stop, the more she hit me. Just remembering her face, how much she enjoyed watching me wiggle in pain, and the obscenities coming out of her painted mouth, makes me nauseous.”

“We never saw Miss Clara again and those who dared to ask either were ignored by the teachers or got a severe beating from that red shoe monster,” Mary added. “I swear I’m never going to wear red shoes as long as I live.”

“Does she treat every student like this?” Sara asked.

“Oh, no!” Vera sighed. “She picks her targets very carefully, and the three of us are the ones who take the brunt of her punishment.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We all come from poor, broken families, and the only way we could be students here is because we’re exceptionally smart. We were picked in our old schools by “Good Samaritan” rich sponsors who paid our tuition that we would pay back with loyalty and dedicated work later,” Kate whispered with tears in her eyes, but Sara sensed sarcasm behind her words. “My mother is so blinded by the opportunity she never had that no matter what I tell her about the abuse, she finds excuses and shuts me up. ‘Just keep quiet. It’s for your future’ she always says.”

“That’s terrible!” Sara cried out. “She should listen to you and protect you.”

“Easy for you to say!” Vera snapped. “My mother is just a lowly cleaning woman and not a duchess like yours. Nobody would believe her if she complained to the authorities. And if she took me home, without my sponsor’s money, I wouldn't have the opportunity to get a high-quality education. That monster knows exactly who to pick to live out her sick fantasies on. She never picks kids from influential, rich families.”  

“I’m so sorry! We can’t let her get away with this. We must stop that pervert!” Sarah scanned the girls' faces.

“And why would you help us?” Mary asked with doubt in her voice.

“Nobody should be treated like this!” Sara angrily replied. “You’re all smarter and more talented than me. You shouldn’t have to suffer for the education my parents’ money can easily pay for.”

The group stared at Sara with hope in their eyes when the bell rang. “Okay, let’s get back to class and play the role of the most diligent and most obedient student. Tell me everything you know when we have a chance to talk again in private, and we’ll come up with a plan to stop her. When we have enough evidence, I’ll talk to my Godfather. His law firm is the biggest and most influential in the country.”

The trio listened to Sara with hopeful smiles. Kate said, “The best place to talk privately is the library because nobody spends time there lately unless they really have to. It stinks there and nobody knows why,” Kate said, wrinkling her nose.

Everyone agreed and the next day during the long recess they met in the library. They chose a secluded corner where nobody could overhear them. “It stinks here,” Mary grimaced. “No wonder we’re the only ones here.”

 The four girls sat close to each other. “I don’t care about the smell,” Sara whispered. “At least we can talk without anybody disturbing us. What do you know about Miss Clara’s disappearance? Did anyone see her after she left Kate’s room?” She asked.

Vera whispered back, “A girl in my French class told me that she saw Madame Chloe and Miss Clara walking down the hall late at night when she was coming back from the bathroom. She wondered what they were doing in the dorm building so late. She considered following them but was too scared to be seen by the principal, so she closed the door.”

“Did anyone see Miss Clara after that?” Sara asked.

“We asked the teachers and a lot of students, but nobody saw her after that night,” Kate replied anxiously wringing her fingers.  

“So, they walked together, and nobody ever saw Miss Clara again,” Sara speculated. “I assume the monster didn’t offer any explanation, or did she?”

“Of course not!” Mary huffed. “And nobody dared to ask her.”

“Shh!” Sara hushed the others and looked at the librarian and a short, balding man in a janitor uniform. He was walking toward the window at the far side of the large room with disgusted looks on their faces.

“Phew!” Mr. Smith exclaimed. “You were right, Miss Rose. It still stinks here.”

“You must do something about it! It smells like a dead rat or rather an army of dead rats,” the tall, bony woman whose face resembled a horse exclaimed.

“Miss, I have searched the library many times over the past two weeks and have not found any dead animals.” What else can I do?”

“Search again!” the woman ordered.

The janitor threw his arms up in desperation, turned, and walked away from the librarian.

Sara watched him as he walked toward the door, sneaking a side glance at the girls sitting in the corner. “My intuition tells me he knows something,” Sara whispered. “We have to talk to that man.” She stood up and hurried toward the door trailed by the three girls.

They caught up with the janitor in the hallway leading to the classrooms. “Mr. Smith,” Sara called out to the man walking in deep thought.

“Yes, Miss,” he turned toward Sara and scanned the group walking behind her.

“Can we talk to you?” Sara asked.

The janitor seemed surprised. “Yes, Miss.” But his eyes anxiously locked on the principal's door. “But not here,” he muttered. “If Madame Chloe saw me talking to students, I’d be in big trouble. You can find me in the maintenance room in the basement after dinner.” He said and hurried away.

They spent the rest of the day trying not to draw the principal’s attention to themselves. After dinner when the hallways were empty, they tiptoed toward the basement door. “What if the monster caught us?” Sara asked.

“Oh, everybody knows that after dinner she locks herself in her room and watches sadist porn movies. She never comes out of her room before ten to shut off the lights.” Mary said in disgust.

“How do you know?”

“Miss Clara told us. That was the only time she dared to come to our rooms to gather proof against the monster.”

They opened the basement door and crept down the steps. The warm musty air tickled their noses with the heavy smell of chemicals. The janitor waited for them and ushered them into the maintenance room. Sara decided to tell him everything they knew. She assured him that if he knew anything about the abuse and disappearance of Miss Clara, even the smallest detail. “My uncle is the Chief of Police,” Sara assured the janitor. “If we could provide him with solid proof and information, I’m sure he would close the school and start an investigation. And my godfather's law firm would surely protect you.”

“I believe you, Miss. Your family’s ties are stronger and higher than Madame Chloe’s, so when it comes to that, I know they would protect me,” Mr. Smith nodded. “I know things, but I’ve been afraid to tell anyone. People who dare to say anything and Madame Chloe finds out who the whistleblower is, they vanish.”

“If you feel uncomfortable, you don’t even need to tell us what you know. Just tell me you have solid proof and I’ll set up a meeting with my uncle.”

The janitor sighed and with a determined look on his face started talking. “I know the way she’s treated some of the students. She’s a sick woman. Miss Clara told me and gave me some pictures to keep them safe. But we didn’t know who to trust. Two years ago, another teacher gathered enough proof and reported it to a lieutenant at the station. She disappeared the next day and the evidence vanished with her.”

The three girls looked at each other. “Miss Antoinette,” Mary whispered. “She was my favorite teacher.”

Mr. Smith nodded. “Nobody knew what had happened to her, but a week after Miss Clara’s sudden disappearance, the awful smell in the library made me remember something. Back then the smell of decay lingered for months, and we never found out where it came from. But yesterday, after I talked to the librarian, I got the school building blueprint from the secretary. I noticed that there is a room right under the library in the basement that I’d never seen. I measured the distance from the boiler room and there was nothing there but a brick wall at the end of the hallway where the blueprint indicates a small room. But when I carefully looked at every inch of the wall, I found a keyhole and some brick dust underneath it on the floor.”

“That must be a hidden door!” Sara shouted.

“That’s what I think, and the smell is strongest there.”

“Do you… do you think Miss Clara is there… dead?” Kate cried out.

“After thinking things over, I’m afraid so, Miss.”

Sara shivered. “We must find the key and look inside. But where could it be?”

“I’m almost certain Madame Chloe has the key,” the janitor said. “The night Miss Clara disappeared I was working late. When I finished around 2 am and stepped out into the hallway, I saw Madame Chloe walking up the steps barefoot. I wondered what she was doing in the basement in the middle of the night and why she wasn’t wearing those awful red shoes.”

“That’s it! We have to find that key in the principal’s office,” Sara decided.

“But how? She always locks the door when she’s not in the office,” Mary objected.

Mr. Smith raised his hand to quiet the girls. “No need for that!” he said calmly. “I just made a wax impression of the keyhole and tonight I’ll make a copy of the key from the impression. Meet me here tomorrow night and I’ll tell you what I found in that room. Now go back to your rooms but be careful.”

Sleep avoided the girls all night and the next day dragged on. Finally, after dinner when the halls quieted down and the students retreated into their rooms to study, the four friends tiptoed to the basement door and hurried down the stairs. Mr. Smith awaited them sitting on the bench with a dire expression on his face and his shoulders slumped.

“What did you find?” Sara asked.

“I… I found both of them,” he cried out. “Poor Miss Antoinette and poor Miss Clara!” He sobbed.

“Are they both…” Kate didn’t finish.

“Yes, Miss. Both are dead.”

***

The following morning, Sara sought permission to call her father. Switching to French—a language unbeknownst to the eavesdropping secretary who monitored all student calls—she recounted every harrowing detail, from their eerie findings to the grim discovery of lifeless bodies hidden in the basement. Her voice trembled as she spoke, yet she conveyed each word with precision.

“Hold on and don’t say anything to anyone,” her father instructed after absorbing the gravity of her revelations. “I'll handle everything. We'll arrive with your uncle and a team of detectives as swiftly as possible.”

During the bustling lunch hour, the previously tranquil corridors of Hillcrest School were now a hive of activity, teeming with policemen and detectives. They converged upon the building like ants for a picnic, driven by their urgent purpose. The atmosphere was charged with tension, palpable in every corner as students and teachers clustered together in the dining room, exchanging hushed whispers filled with anxiety and speculation.

Without warning, the dining room door slammed shut, and the sharp clatter of locks clicking reverberated through the room, sending a shiver down everyone’s spine. The atmosphere grew tense as they were summoned one by one into a cramped side room for intense interrogation. As the hours dragged on, a heavy mountain of evidence and damning testimonies piled up against Madame Chloe. She stood accused of heinous crimes – the brutal abuse of children and the cold-blooded murder of two innocent souls.

The once intimidating figure of Madame Chloe was now a mere shell, being led away in handcuffs by the authorities. News of her downfall spread like wildfire through Hillcrest School, bringing with it a sense of relief. The oppressive atmosphere that once hung over the school, fueled by fear and uncertainty at the sound of red stiletto heels clicking down the halls, was now lifted. Justice had been served and peace could finally be restored.

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Book Sunday #OurAuthorGang

 A short story collection by David W. Thompson

ON AMAZON

How dark do you like it? Brace yourself for a journey back in time to face a Native American Wendigo! Or let the creatures hidden in the dark woods stir your blood. Fairies are sweet, gentle creatures...right? Perhaps the terrors of day to day life are enough. (You'll find them here too.) 'Possum Stew is the sure cure to quench your thirst for dark adventure. Are you brave enough to turn the page? Don't turn off the lights!

'Possum Stew is a collection of short stories from multi-award winning paranormal and dark fiction author David W. Thompson. Beginning with the New Year, it follows the seasons through all the major holidays. From dark tales inspired by ancient mythology to those flavored with cutting edge technology, they'll provide dark fiction treats that are impossible to forget or put down. How much spectral spice do you desire? You'll find it here. Why wait? Begin your adventure today!

Read a short story from the book

Eternal

“There you are, Ben. I’ve looked all over for you. Where have you been?”

“I had some early morning chores to do, Nina. Thank you for the coffee.” Benjamin sat at his customary seat at the kitchen table, facing the front door and at Nina’s side.

“You’ve always been such a busy man, running here and there and back again. Come sit with me. Do you remember what tomorrow is?”

“Indeed, I do. In all our years together, have I ever forgotten? It’s a doubly special day—Valentine’s Day and our anniversary.”

“How many years has it been since I let you talk me into being your wife.?”

“As I recall, I didn’t have to twist your arm so much. Fifty-two years—neither of us had a single grey hair in our heads back then. Before the kids and diapers. Soccer games and choir practice, then in a flash, the graduations, and it was like we started all over, you and I.”

“It was also before that terrible scare last year. I thought I’d lose you, Ben.”

“Let’s not dwell on that. We have too many good memories to share. I was thinking the other day, do you remember what your father said to you after I asked him for your hand?”

“Do I! The girls and I still laugh over that. He said, ‘Now I like your young man, Nina, so don’t misunderstand me, but his prospects aren’t so good. I don’t think he can care for you as you deserve, and he couldn’t love you any more than I do.’”

“You did hold your father’s heart in your hands. So, have I?”

“Have you what?”

“Cared for you and loved you?”

“You silly old fool. We’ve hit a rough patch or two, as everyone does, but you’ve made my life a very happy one, my love. But I wonder about you. I don’t see you as much as I used to. My memory isn’t what it was, but some days I don’t see you at all until we cuddle in bed at night. Do you still love me, as old and wrinkled as I’ve become?”

“You are as lovely as the day I met you, Nina. More so, given all we’ve shared. There’s no one I’d rather spend my time with, and there will never be another you.”

“Where do you go then, when you leave the house? Tell me there isn’t someone else?”

“Never. Remember when I was in the Navy and spent so many months on that ship? I’d get so disheartened when I didn’t get a letter from you, sometimes for a whole week. I was terribly afraid you’d forgotten me or found someone else. Then the day would come and the clerk would hand me a dozen or more letters. It was like Christmas for me, a letter for every day I was gone. You never missed a day writing me. I’d hole up on my bunk and read your thoughts, savoring every word. So, know this, dear Nina, wherever I am, you are never far from my thoughts.”

“I remember those days, but they aren’t in my happy memories file. My heart ached for you so. We were no more than newlyweds, and I cried myself to sleep every night. Why did they have to take you away from me? It didn’t seem fair.”

“Then I came home on another Valentine’s Day, and again we started over.”

“Started over? I felt like I was in a time warp, and you were still courting me. You brought me flowers after work every week. You worked at Smitty’s Garage then. He told me once you were the best mechanic he’d ever had, as long as he could keep your mind from wandering back home to be with me.”

“Smitty said that? The old rascal, telling my secrets.”

“You were still working there when Cathy was born. That was before Smitty had his heart attack.”

“I was scared to death I’d be a miserable father, but you seemed to know exactly what to do. You took to motherhood like a fish to water.”

“Except I got so fat.”

“Yes. I heard that for months. If anything, you were even more beautiful. People say that women have a “glow” when in the family way, but with you, it lasted so much longer. In fact, I can still see it.”

“You old flirt. Do you remember our date night on our 25^th anniversary? We went to see the movies at that new theatre that opened up. I can’t remember what we saw, but it was popular at the time. You took me by the hand and led me up to the front row, and you knew I hated sitting up so close. The theatre was packed, so I thought you hadn’t noticed the empty seats a few rows back. The previews were showing, and you stopped in the middle of the aisle. Then you went down on one knee and asked me to marry you again.”

“And the most important part—you said yes. It didn’t take me twenty-five years to know I had that in common with your dad. You also hold my heart, Nina. I will always be here as long as you want and need me.”

“I’ll always need you, but I must tell you something, Ben.”

 “I thought we were sticking with happy memories, my love.”

“I know, and…perhaps I shouldn’t, but the secret is weighing on me. There was time, a man…”

Ben stared into her fawn brown eyes as his own misted over.

“No, nothing happened. It was when you were so sick. The doctors said you weren’t going to make it, and I couldn’t accept that. I spent hours in the hospital chapel, praying for a miracle…and once I met this man there. His name was Frank Page, and his wife passed away that night. I tried to comfort him in his pain. Days later, he visited me in your hospital room. You were sedated and I doubt you recall?”

Benjamin shook his head.

“Well, after that first visit, Frank returned a few days later. He asked me to have a coffee with him in the cafeteria. You were asleep with the morphine, and I didn’t see the harm in it, so I went.”

Ben looked down at his cup of coffee and took a sip to avoid her eyes. It tasted bitter, and he pushed it away.

“Frank was very attentive and very interested in how you were doing. I had no one else to talk to after Flo moved away, and he was there, ready to listen. This went on for a few weeks. He’d stop at the hospital every few days to talk with me. He’d ask how you were. Some mornings, we’d have coffee together. Then, when you got out of the hospital, I didn’t think any more about it…about him. But one night last week, he showed up here at the house.”

Ben cleared his throat and rubbed his forehead. “What happened, Nina?”

“He said he knew you were gone and that I might enjoy his company. Then he…he kissed me, Ben. I didn’t see it coming, and I slapped his face! I don’t know if I’d misunderstood his intentions the whole time or if I’d somehow led him on. I feel terrible, Ben. I can’t sleep at night for thinking about it. You’re my everything. I told Mr. Page he needed to leave this house, and I never wanted to see him again.”

Tears fell from her beautiful eyes, and Ben’s heart melted at the sight.

“Dear wife, it was a misunderstanding and no more than that. I know how faithful you are. I trust you with my love and my soul. Do not linger another minute on this…unless Mr. Page pushes it, then I’ll have to take measures.”

Nina stood and skirted the table's edge to take her husband in her arms. “God knows I love you.”

“I love you too, sweet Nina.”

“Never leave me?” she asked.

“I promise.”

Nina wiped at her eyes and looked down at Ben. “I swear, though, dearest, you’ve wasted away since you were sick. You weigh less than nothing. Let me fix you something to eat. We need to fatten you up.” She wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and kissed his forehead.

“Did I tell you that Cathy is stopping by later this morning? She said she has something she wants to talk to me about.”

“Ah, some girl talk.”

“I suppose so.”

Nina went to the refrigerator to begin their breakfast. She pulled out the container of eggs and the special brand of sausage that Benjamin favored. As she set the table, a knock came from the door.

“I bet that’s Cathy now, early as usual.”

“I’ll give you girls your privacy then,” Ben said.

Nina turned to smile at him, but he was already gone.

“Mornin,’ Mom,” Cathy yelled from the door. “I know I’m early, but I have some things to catch up on around the house later. What have you been up to?” She stepped into the kitchen, and her eyes swept the room.

“Oh, your father and I were chatting. Tomorrow’s our anniversary, you know.”

“Jesus, Mom. Two place settings at the table. Who’s the second one for?”

“Don’t be silly, Catherine. It’s for your father, of course.”

“Mom, when are you going to stop this? You know Dad is gone.”

“Nonsense, I was talking to him a moment ago. Benjamin, come say hello to your daughter!” Nina stared at the spot her husband left moments before, then continued. “I guess he’s out in his work shed. But I told him about that man, Cathy. I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. I’d felt sorry for him because he was grieving for his wife, but that gave him no right to take such liberties. Your father is such a kind and considerate man. He understood.”

“Dad’s gone, Mom. We buried him last year. God, I hate to see you like this. You need to get out of this house some and move on with your life. You’re still healthy and independent. You should go out with Mr. Page sometime, to have a companion your own age. Mr. Page told me he’s worried about you.”

“He needn’t. I felt sorry for him but won’t have anything more to do with him.”

“Dad wouldn’t want you going on like this, Mom. You know he wouldn’t.”

“He said he’ll always be here as long as I need him, and I’ll always need him, Cathy.”

Cathy shook her head and changed the subject to more mundane matters. Nina advised her of the sale running at the grocery. Cathy shared her concern about her daughter’s report card. Nina spoke of the new flower seed she ordered to plant in the Spring. When there was little else to discuss, Cathy took her leave.

“Mom, you should talk to someone about your “visits” with Dad. There’s a doctor in town that some of my friends rave about…”

***

Nina watched her daughter’s car pull out of the drive and returned to preparing breakfast. When she cracked an egg in the frying pan, she felt his arms wrap around her.

“She’ll never understand, Ben.”

“Maybe someday.”

“I love you, Benjamin Mills. Forever.”

“I love you, too.”

“Do you remember that time…”

David W. Thompson

https://www.david-w-thompson.com

David is a multiple award-winning author, Army veteran, and graduate of UMUC. He’s a multi-genre writer and a member of the Horror Writers’ Association, and the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association. When not writing, Dave enjoys family, kayaking, fishing, hiking, hunting, winemaking, and woodcarving.

Midnight Murder

 Emma's trust in her psychic ability solidifies

Emma finished her patient notes and gave her report to the evening shift nurse before changing clothes and rushing to the garage. For once, she would be able to leave work on time. She thought back to days when she had to pull double shifts or when the chaos of the ER made it nearly impossible to finish her paperwork in a timely fashion. As she drove home, Emma called her husband.

“Are you working overtime again?” Paul asked with a laugh.

“No, for once I'll even have time to cook dinner,” Emma replied.

“Wow, that's rare,” Paul chuckled, knowing how often he had to work late at his law firm and rarely had time to finish his work before 5 pm. “Do you mind if I invite Steve over for dinner? He has an investment proposal and I'd rather discuss it at home than in the office.”

“Of course, darling,” Emma said with a bright, cheery tone. “Then I'll defrost the lasagna and take out the German cherry cake from the freezer that I picked up last week. It will give me time to tidy up before you arrive home.”

“That sounds perfect, sweetheart! We'll be home by six.”

On her way home, Emma couldn't resist stopping at a charming farmstand she passed by. She carefully selected fresh lettuce, crisp radishes, juicy tomatoes, and crunchy cucumbers to create a delicious salad.

As the food thawed, Emma tackled some light cleaning tasks around the house. She ran the vacuum over the carpets, dusted the surfaces, and even managed to squeeze in a quick shower before five o'clock rolled around. As she dried her hair, she tried to recall Steve's face. She had only met Paul's business manager once at a party nearly a year ago, and their exchange was brief and polite. Despite not knowing much about him, he seemed like a decent person and Paul had never said anything negative about him. The firm was successful and catered to affluent clients, a fact that Emma knew from casual conversations with her husband. Curiosity piqued as she wondered what kind of proposal Steve might have in store for them. Since their marriage three years ago, Emma made a conscious effort not to pry into Paul's work life and only knew snippets of information that he shared with her voluntarily.

Shortly after six, they arrived, but as soon as she looked at her husband’s face, Emma knew something was wrong. The slight frown on his handsome features was a rare display of emotion for him, but Emma had learned to read his subtle signs over the years. His tense posture and the way he shot a quick glance at their guest, Steve, told her that something was very wrong. She raised her eyebrows in question but remained quiet and followed Paul's lead as they ushered Steve into the living room.

Paul expertly mixed cocktails for them all, but Emma could sense the tension in the air. As they sat down, Paul turned to Steve with a calm yet controlled demeanor. “Before you tell me about your investment plans, let me ask you something,” he said in a low voice.

Emma watched with growing alarm as her husband's jaw tightened, signaling his underlying anger. She couldn't imagine what would come next. It must be something very serious. She thought. Otherwise, he would talk about business after dinner, as he usually does.

“Tell me about the two hundred thousand dollars,” Paul's voice rose slightly, revealing his true emotions towards their guest.

Steve's hand shook and he jolted in his seat, spilling a few drops of his drink onto his lap. His eyes widened in surprise as Paul confronted him about missing money.

“Why are you asking me?” Steve stammered, trying to compose himself.

“Because the accountant called me just before we left to ask about one of our bank accounts,” Paul explained. “He said he couldn't find the statement for the interest we had been paid on that account. I didn't want to cause a scene in the office, so I'm asking you now. Where is the money?”

“I had nothing to do with it!” Steve exclaimed, his face turning red with anger as he stood up. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“Yes!” Paul fumed, his frustration evident. “I checked with the bank, and they informed me that the account we had 210 thousand dollars in now only has eight thousand. What did you do with the missing money?”

“I… I’m leaving! You can’t just accuse me of something I didn’t do,” Steve mumbled, putting his glass on the coffee table.

“You’re not going anywhere until you answer my question!”

Paul's voice echoed through the room, loud and forceful as he jumped up to block Steve's path toward the door. Emma shrunk back into the far corner of the sofa, her heart racing as she watched them. Paul, usually calm and collected, now had a fiery rage burning in his eyes. She had never seen him like this before.

Steve looked like a cornered animal, his hands shaking, and his face twisted in fear. “Okay, I gamble, and I've been unlucky the past three months! I'm an addict. I'm sick!” he screamed; desperation evident in his voice. “I'll pay it back, just give me a chance.”

Paul's voice cracked with pain as he spoke. “How could you do this? I trusted you!”

“I'm so sorry! You have to understand. It's a disease!” Steve pleaded, tears streaming down his face.

But Paul was unfazed. “You played your card, now you suffer the consequences. You're fired!” He stepped aside to let Steve pass. “And you’ll have to pay back the money you stole,” Paul said coldly.

Panic set in for Steve as he realized what that meant. Desperation swept over him as he begged, “You can't! Please, you can't do this to me.”

Paul's face hardened, his once friendly features now twisted into a cold, angry mask. “You did this to yourself. Now get out of my house!”

Steve recoiled at the sharpness in Paul's voice, feeling a surge of pain and anger bubbling up inside him. He looked into Paul's eyes, but all he could see was disappointment and hurt. With drooping shoulders and a defeated expression, he turned and made his way to the door, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the tense silence between them.

“I trusted him,” Paul whispered when the door closed behind Steve, his voice hoarse and heavy with emotion. He slumped down beside Emma, his shoulders shaking with the weight of betrayal.

Continue reading the story in the book:

https://books2read.com/u/m27NQd

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