Chapter 5 - THE PHOTOCOPIED STAR
For ten seconds after Robin spoke, I could hear nothing but the wind moving across the mansion's front steps.
“A copy of Sofia's notebook?” I said. “How much of it?”
“Four pages. Her dates, her handwriting, and a photograph of the first page. It was attached to an allegation about your conduct.”
“That's private medical information.”
“I agree it's sensitive. Let me obtain the complaint through the proper process before we determine what can be challenged. Do not contact the person who filed it.”
“I wouldn't even know who that is.”
“The packet has a name, but that name may not tell us who supplied the images. I'll explain what I can when we meet.”
The call ended. I stood under the portico holding Sofia's schoolbooks, feeling the chill work its way through my uniform. The girl who had hidden her achievements because she was afraid of ruining a wedding had trusted us with her notebook. Now strangers were using its pages as weapons.
Luca found me there.
“Emily? You're shaking.”
I told him what Robin had said. His face went pale before it went hard.
“I put that notebook in a locked drawer,” he said.
“Who has a key?”
“Me. Teresa has emergency access to the study. My former assistant had a duplicate before his employment ended.”
“When did he leave?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“Can you be certain his key was recovered?”
Luca didn't answer immediately. He took out his phone and called Andrea.
I waited beside the marble fountain while he spoke. Watching a powerful man discover that an expensive lock did not guarantee safety was a strange experience. He could summon people with a single call. But even he couldn't retrieve a page once someone had photographed it.
“I want the access records preserved,” he said finally. “Not altered. And I don't want everyone on staff treated as a suspect because they happen to work here.”
He hung up and looked at me. “You should have been told about the risk.”
“So should Sofia.”
“Yes,” he said. “She should.”
The next morning Luca asked a child psychologist, Dr. Nora Stein, to advise him on how to explain the possible exposure without making Sofia feel responsible. Sofia decided she wanted me there too. We sat around a small table in the sunny schoolroom, with a basket of colored pencils between us.
“Some pages from your notebook may have been shared with people who shouldn't have seen them,” Luca said. “We're working to understand how that happened.”
Sofia's face went blank. “Did I do something wrong by giving it to you?”
“No.” His voice was steady. “I was responsible for keeping it safe.”
“Do people know I couldn't lift my foot in April?”
“We don't know everyone who saw the pages,” Nora said gently. “We can explain what steps the adults are taking, and you can tell us what worries you most.”
Sofia looked at the window. “I don't want the other kids at school deciding whether I'm really sick.”
No one tried to tell her that would never happen. Instead Luca called the school's principal, with Sofia's permission, to discuss a privacy plan and a way to respond if the image appeared online. Sofia chose not to make a public statement. I watched her make that decision and thought about how often adults mistook silence for weakness.
The complaint accused me of pushing Sofia to stand for social attention, claimed that I'd secretly coached her to exaggerate progress, and suggested I had misunderstood medical guidance. The author was listed as an independent guest, Marianne Holt, who'd attended the engagement dinner with Carlo Bellini. Robin pointed out that the complaint contained details that had not been visible to guests.
“An allegation isn't a finding,” Robin reminded me as we sat in her modest office downtown. “We can respond factually, with appropriate records and witness statements. I want you to know that you're not obligated to let your employer control your defense.”
“What if this ruins my chance of getting another job?”
“That's one of the risks we take seriously. We'll document the reputational harm and preserve communications. But I won't promise a result I can't guarantee.”
I liked her for that. People with expensive lawyers had spent days making large promises about Sofia's future. Robin was asking what she could prove.
Robin also asked me to think about what I wanted if the accusations were formally rejected. At first I didn't understand the question. I wanted Vanessa to stop. I wanted the journalists gone. I wanted the people who'd looked at my uniform and assumed I could be bought to admit they had been wrong. Robin listened, then slid a blank page across her desk.
"Those are understandable feelings," she said. "But a remedy might be a correction to the record, a commitment not to repeat false allegations, or an acknowledgment of how your employment was affected. Let's decide what you need rather than what would look satisfying on a television screen."
I wrote two words: MY NAME. Below them I added: MY JOB. Then, after a long pause, I wrote: SOFIA'S PRIVACY.
I realized the third mattered most, and it was also the one I had the least right to bargain away. Robin nodded when she read the page.
"We can defend you without offering the child's life for public inspection," she said. "Those aren't opposite goals."
We prepared a concise statement. I had assisted Sofia with exercises previously demonstrated by her therapist, and at the dinner I helped her sit safely when the situation became upsetting. I had not prescribed therapy, claimed to be a clinician, or used Sofia for publicity. The statement included no intimate details from Sofia's notebook. Robin asked whether I wanted to identify the witnesses I'd observed. I named Teresa and the therapist, and left the rest for her to verify.
When I returned to the mansion, I found Sofia in the hallway, holding a pair of purple sneakers. One had a little moon on the heel. She'd chosen them because the soles were sturdy enough for supervised standing work.
“Will Vanessa make me give these back?” she asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“They're your shoes.”
She hugged them against her chest. “She said they were a waste of money if I wasn't going to walk.”
I crouched in front of her. “Shoes can be useful and beautiful even when you're sitting. You get to like what you like.”
Sofia studied my worn black flats. “You should get purple ones too.”
“I'd be fired by the uniform committee.”
“Then fire the committee.”
Her laughter made the hall feel less cold.
That night Andrea summoned the senior household staff to explain that access protocols were being reviewed. She did not accuse anyone. She outlined a method for reporting unusual requests for records and instructed staff not to discuss Sofia's health with outsiders. The house's security manager, Daniel Rusk, stood with his arms folded as though the meeting were a personal insult.
“We've worked for years without a problem,” he said.
Teresa raised one eyebrow. “We've worked for years without noticing certain problems.”
Luca had joined the meeting without warning. He looked at Rusk. “She has a point.”
Rusk stiffened. “Mr. Moretti, I protect your family.”
“Then you should welcome an independent review.”
Rusk's silence told me more than his speech had.
After the meeting I found a folded paper under the windshield wiper of my car. It wasn't a threat. It was a printout of the engagement dinner guest list, with three names circled: Marianne Holt, Gabriel Vale, and a medical records consultant named Elise Warren.
There was no message. No signature. Just the list.
I walked it straight to Andrea, who photographed it and asked where I'd found it. She looked concerned when I told her.
“Someone wants you to carry the investigation,” she said. “You don't have to do that.”
“I know. But whoever this is keeps finding me.”
“We'll handle the document. You can go home.”
I was halfway down the corridor when Luca caught up with me. He carried two paper cups from the kitchen. He handed one over without ceremony.
“Hot chocolate,” he said. “Teresa says you forget to eat when you're worried.”
“Teresa says that about everyone.”
“She's usually right.”
We stood beside a tall window overlooking the dark garden. For a moment neither of us spoke.
“Can I ask you something?” Luca said.
“Depends.”
“Why did you stay at the dinner when Vanessa yelled at you?”
I thought about Sofia's trembling hands. “Because if I walked away, she would have thought she was the one who'd done something wrong.”
Luca looked down at his cup. “I didn't know Vanessa spoke to her that way.”
“People don't always behave the same when you're in the room.”
“I understand that now.”
“Understanding is a start,” I said.
He nodded. “You're right.”
As I turned to leave, his phone buzzed. He read the message, and all the color drained from his face.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The security review found an archived request for a copy of Sofia's notebook. It came from someone with authority to access the study.”
“Who?”
May you like
He looked at me with an expression that was almost worse than anger.
“The request is logged under my account.”
