Chapter 4 - Employee 771
Darkness swallowed the bedroom.
Clara heard Dominic move before she saw anything.
One second he stood beside her.
The next, his hand was around her wrist, guiding her behind the solid wall near the dressing room.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“I’m not staying alone.”
His phone screen illuminated his face.
For once, Dominic did not argue.
He opened the bedroom door.
The hallway was dark too.
Emergency lights should have activated automatically.
They had not.
“That’s impossible,” he muttered.
“What?”
“The backup generator.”
“Someone disabled it?”
“Yes.”
They moved through the corridor.
Clara stayed close despite every emotion telling her she should hate the fact that being near Dominic still made her feel safer.
Voices rose downstairs.
Luca called from the foyer.
“Boss!”
Dominic answered.
“Here.”
A flashlight beam climbed the staircase.
Luca appeared below with two security men.
“Whole east wing lost power. Main panel was manually shut down.”
“Who has access?”
“Staff, security, maintenance.”
“That’s half the house.”
“Yes.”
Dominic glanced at Clara.
“Find out who left the property in the last hour.”
Luca nodded.
“And Camila?”
“Still missing.”
“Vincent?”
“No contact.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
The generator came back several minutes later.
But Clara no longer trusted the walls.
Neither did Dominic.
They relocated to a guest suite on the opposite side of the mansion.
No one slept.
At seven in the morning, Clara dressed in black trousers, a cream blouse, and a long coat.
Dominic entered while she pinned her hair.
“You are not going to Bennett Maritime.”
She looked at him in the mirror.
“I’m going.”
“It could be a trap.”
“Then stay home.”
His mouth flattened.
“You know I won’t.”
“Yes.”
That was why she said it.
An hour later, they entered Bennett Maritime through the private parking garage.
The building felt haunted.
Richard’s company employed more than two hundred people during Clara’s childhood.
After his death, most operations had been suspended while ownership issues were reviewed.
Now only a skeleton staff remained.
Dust gathered on reception desks.
The elevators sounded too loud.
Richard’s old office had been sealed.
Clara stopped outside it.
A brass plaque still read:
RICHARD BENNETT — PRESIDENT.
For a moment, she could not move.
Dominic stood behind her.
He did not touch her.
Clara appreciated that.
“The archives are downstairs,” she said.
They descended two floors.
Metal shelves filled the basement.
Boxes covered years of company history.
Clara found the payroll section.
“October,” she murmured.
“Which year?”
“The year before everything collapsed.”
Dominic opened another cabinet.
Together they searched.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then Clara found it.
A thick ledger.
OCTOBER PAYROLL.
She carried it to the table.
Employee numbers ran down the left column.
752.
753.
754.
755.
Clara’s finger stopped.
Her body went cold.
Dominic saw her face.
“What?”
She moved her hand.
Employee number 771.
EVELYN BENNETT.
Dominic frowned.
“Who is Evelyn?”
Clara could barely speak.
“My aunt.”
“Richard had a sister?”
“Yes.”
“You never mentioned her.”
“Because she died eight years ago.”
Dominic stared.
Clara looked at the payroll entry again.
Evelyn Bennett.
Salary payments.
Consulting fees.
Expense reimbursements.
All processed years after Evelyn’s supposed death.
“This is impossible.”
Dominic took the ledger.
“Maybe someone used her employee number.”
“Why?”
“To hide payments.”
Clara’s pulse quickened.
She flipped pages.
Employee 771 appeared repeatedly.
Large bonuses.
Unusual reimbursements.
Transfers labeled consulting.
Dominic photographed each entry.
Then Clara saw another notation.
AUTHORIZED BY: C. ROSSI.
She stared.
“Camila.”
Dominic’s expression sharpened.
“Impossible.”
“You keep saying that.”
“She didn’t work for my organization then.”
“But she processed Bennett payroll.”
Dominic looked again.
“That could be another C. Rossi.”
Clara gave him a look.
He nodded.
“Fair.”
They searched the records.
Eventually they found personnel files.
There was one under employee 771.
Clara opened it.
The photograph inside made her sit down.
Camila Rossi.
Younger.
Different hair.
Same eyes.
The name on the file was not Camila Rossi.
It was Evelyn Bennett.
Dominic swore.
Clara could not move.
“This says she’s my aunt.”
“That doesn’t mean she is.”
“Look at the birth date.”
Dominic read it.
Clara whispered, “My aunt Evelyn supposedly died in a car accident when I was fourteen.”
“Did you see the body?”
“No.”
“Funeral?”
“Closed casket.”
Dominic’s phone rang.
Luca.
He answered.
“What?”
His expression changed.
“Say that again.”
Clara watched.
Dominic ended the call.
“What happened?”
He looked at her.
“Camila came back.”
“To the mansion?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She says Vincent kidnapped her.”
Clara laughed in disbelief.
“Convenient.”
“She’s asking to speak with me.”
“We’re not going anywhere until we understand this.”
Dominic agreed.
They searched more deeply.
A locked drawer beneath the payroll cabinet required an old brass key.
Clara remembered where Richard used to hide office keys.
Inside the bottom of his desk.
They went upstairs.
Clara entered her father’s office.
Everything remained almost exactly as it had on the morning he died.
A coffee mug.
A framed picture of Clara at seventeen.
His reading glasses.
She swallowed hard.
Dominic noticed but said nothing.
Clara found the key taped beneath the drawer.
Back downstairs, they opened the locked cabinet.
Inside were sealed folders.
Employee 771.
Richard had written across one:
EVELYN IS NOT DEAD.
Clara’s knees weakened.
She opened the file.
Photographs.
Bank transfers.
Identity documents.
A newspaper clipping about Evelyn Bennett’s fatal accident.
And beside it, a copy of a private investigator’s report dated five years later.
SUBJECT LOCATED: CAMILA ROSSI.
Clara read quickly.
Evelyn had survived the crash.
Changed identities.
Moved overseas.
Returned under the name Camila Rossi.
“Why?” Clara whispered.
Dominic was reading another page.
His face darkened.
“What?”
He handed it to her.
A letter from Richard.
Evelyn believes Father stole her half of Bennett Maritime. She blames me for keeping control after his death. She wants the docks. She has been working with Salvatore Russo.
Clara sank into the chair.
Her aunt.
Camila.
The woman who sat at Dominic’s table.
The woman who laughed while Dominic dismissed Clara as his wife on paper.
She had been inside both families for years.
Dominic was already moving.
“We leave now.”
Clara looked up.
“Why?”
“If Camila returned voluntarily, she wants us at the mansion.”
“Then we shouldn’t go.”
“No.”
Dominic picked up the files.
“We should.”
Clara stared at him.
“That sounds intelligent.”
“She believes we don’t know who she is.”
“You want to pretend?”
“Yes.”
Clara stood.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
She held his gaze.
Dominic sighed.
“I don’t know why I bother.”
“Neither do I.”
For the first time in two days, something almost like amusement touched his face.
It disappeared immediately.
They returned to the Russo mansion shortly after noon.
Camila waited in the study.
Her hair was disheveled.
A faint mark darkened one wrist.
She looked exhausted.
Clara almost admired the performance.
“Thank God,” Camila said when Dominic entered.
Her eyes moved to Clara.
Something changed.
Tiny.
But Clara saw it.
Fear.
“Where is Vincent?” Dominic asked.
Camila shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“He forced me into a car after the party. He said he knew you suspected someone was leaking information.”
Dominic poured water.
Not whiskey.
Camila continued.
“He wanted access codes.”
“Did you give them?”
“No.”
Dominic nodded.
Clara sat quietly.
Camila looked at her.
“You should not be here for this.”
Clara smiled.
“I live here.”
Camila’s expression tightened.
“She’s my wife,” Dominic said.
A strange silence followed.
For the first time, the phrase sounded different.
Not possession.
Declaration.
Camila looked at him.
“You said last night—”
“I say many things.”
Camila understood.
Her eyes hardened.
Dominic sat across from her.
“Tell me about employee 771.”
Camila’s face emptied.
Clara watched the transformation.
The frightened victim disappeared.
Something colder emerged.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Evelyn.”
Silence.
Clara’s heart pounded.
Then Camila laughed.
Not loudly.
Not nervously.
Almost with relief.
“Well,” she said.
Her posture changed.
“So Richard finally left something useful behind.”
Clara stood.
“You’re my aunt.”
Camila looked at her for a long moment.
“No.”
Clara’s face fell.
Camila smiled faintly.
“I am your mother.”
The room stopped.
Clara felt as though the floor disappeared beneath her.
Dominic stared at Camila.
“What did you say?”
Camila’s eyes never left Clara.
“Richard was not your father.”
Clara shook her head.
“No.”
“He was my brother.”
“No.”
“He raised you because I couldn’t.”
Clara’s breathing became shallow.
“You’re lying.”
Camila reached slowly inside her handbag.
Dominic’s body tensed.
She produced a photograph.
A young Evelyn Bennett.
Holding a newborn baby.
On the back, handwritten:
Clara — March 12.
Clara stared.
Camila placed the photograph on the desk.
May you like
“And Richard,” she said quietly, “died because he finally decided to tell you the truth.”
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