Chapter 1

The video call ended with a chorus of congratulations from my team in Seattle.

"We can't wait to have you here, Sarah."

"It's about time they gave you the VP title."

I smiled, feeling a genuine warmth spread through my chest. "Thanks, everyone. I'm excited to get started."

I closed my laptop and leaned back on the sofa in my downtown condo. The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows was spectacular, a sprawling cityscape I had worked tirelessly to make my own. This promotion was the culmination of six years of grinding, of late nights and sacrificed weekends. Vice President of Product Development. A new city, a new chapter. It was everything I wanted.

The first loose end to tie up was Mrs. Jenkins. She had been my personal assistant, my housekeeper, for the entire five years I'd lived here. She handled everything from grocery shopping to dry cleaning, a constant, seemingly loyal presence in my busy life.

I picked up my phone and dialed her number.

"Hi, Mrs. Jenkins, it's Sarah. Do you have a minute?"

"Of course, dear. Is everything alright?" Her voice was the same as always, warm and slightly fussy.

"Everything's great, actually. I have some big news. I've been promoted, but the position is in Seattle. I'll be moving in about three months."

I paused, waiting for a happy response. Instead, there was silence.

"Mrs. Jenkins?"

"Three months," she said finally, her voice flat. "That's not a lot of notice, Sarah."

"Well, it's the standard notice period," I said, a little taken aback. "And of course, I'll write you a glowing letter of recommendation and provide a generous severance package."

"A severance package?" She let out a short, bitter laugh. "After five years of dedicating myself to you, you think a little package is enough?"

I frowned. "I'm not sure what you mean. Our arrangement has always been professional."

"Professional? I've treated you like my own daughter," she said, her voice rising with a strange, theatrical wobble. "I've been here for you through everything. Now you're just going to throw me away?"

This was getting uncomfortable. "I'm not throwing you away. My job is moving. I can't exactly take you with me."

"Then you need to provide for me," she stated, all pretense of warmth gone. "I'm not young anymore. Who's going to hire me at my age? You owe me a lifetime pension."

I actually laughed, I couldn't help it. "A lifetime pension? Mrs. Jenkins, you're my housekeeper, not a corporate executive. That's an absurd request."

"Is it?" Her voice turned sharp, cutting. "Then how about the condo? You're moving, you won't need it. You can just sign it over to me. Consider it payment for my years of loyal service."

My jaw tightened. The shock was turning into anger. This condo was my sanctuary, the first major asset I had ever owned, a symbol of my independence.

"Absolutely not. I am not giving you my condo. This conversation is over."

"It's not over!" she shrieked into the phone. "I gave you the best years of my life! You can't just leave me with nothing! You rich people are all the same, selfish and ungrateful!"

The accusation stung, not because it was true, but because of the venom behind it. She was trying to manipulate me, to paint me as a villain.

"I have been more than fair to you, Mrs. Jenkins. I've paid you well above the market rate, given you bonuses every Christmas, and treated you with respect. What you're demanding is not fair, it's entitlement."

"It's what I deserve!" she insisted. "I have worked hard. I have needs. My daughter, Emily, she's trying to get on her feet. This place would be perfect for her. Don't you have any compassion?"

"My compassion doesn't extend to signing over a million-dollar property because you feel you're owed it," I said, my voice cold and hard. "This is not a negotiation."

"There are rules for people like us," she said, her tone suddenly low and menacing. "We have our own community, our own ways of making sure we're treated right. You wouldn't want a bad reputation, would you? A young, successful woman like you."

The threat was thinly veiled. She was talking about the network of service workers in these affluent downtown buildings, the gossip mill that could churn out rumors and ruin a person's social standing.

I had enough. I was done being polite.

"Is that a threat, Mrs. Jenkins? Are you threatening to spread rumors about me if I don't give you my home?"

"I'm just saying you should do the right thing."

"The right thing," I repeated, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let's be very clear about what's happening here. You aren't asking for help. You're trying to extort me. You want my condo. You don't care about fairness, you just want my property."

"It's a nice condo," she said, her voice now a greedy whisper. The mask was completely off. "You have so much. What's one little condo to you?"

"It's mine," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "And you will never have it. This is your final warning. Do not contact me with these demands again. If you do, I will file a police report for harassment."

I expected her to back down. She didn't.

"You'll be sorry, Sarah. You'll regret this."

"No, you will," I countered. "I am terminating your employment, effective immediately. Do not come back to my building. I will have security escort you out if you try. I'll mail your final check."

I hung up before she could say another word, my hand trembling slightly. My bright, exciting future suddenly felt tainted by this ugly, grasping conflict. The beautiful city view from my window seemed to mock me. I had thought I was building a life, but I had failed to see the viper I'd let into my own home.