Chapter 6: The Confrontation**
The beam of light danced across the mahogany desk, inches from Clara's trembling knees. Vanessa stepped into the room, the hem of her silk robe dragging along the Persian rug. She paused, tilting her head as if listening to the faint sound of Clara’s shallow breathing.
"I know you're out of bed, Clara," Vanessa said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Come out now, and we can make this easy."
Clara pressed her back against the inner paneling, tears burning her eyes, but she refused to make a sound. She pressed the thick envelope against her chest, guarding it with her life.
Vanessa took two slow steps forward. Just as the flashlight beam began to tilt downward toward the desk cavity, a sudden crash echoed from the hallway outside.
"What on earth..." Vanessa muttered, turning sharply toward the noise. She clicked her tongue in annoyance and hurried back into the corridor.
Clara peeked out from under the desk. In the doorway stood Mrs. Gable, holding a fallen silver tray and broken teacups, pretending to be clumsy.
"Oh, madam! I am so sorry, my arthritis..." Mrs. Gable apologized profusely, blocking Vanessa’s path.
"Incompetent old fool," Vanessa snarled, brushing past her toward the master suite.
Mrs. Gable caught Clara’s eye through the doorway and gave a tiny, urgent nod toward the back staircase. Clara didn't hesitate. She scrambled out from under the desk and dashed down the servant stairs straight toward her father’s private study on the ground floor.
David was sitting behind his desk, head buried in his hands, an untouched glass of whiskey beside a mountain of work files. When the door swung open, he looked up, startled.
"Clara? What are you doing awake?"
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Clara ran to him, pulling the thick, sealed envelope from beneath her shirt and slamming it onto his desk. "Daddy, read this! Please, before they take me away!"
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