Floyd's POV
Moreover, our driver’s last name was also Motley. What were the odds? Was this all just a coincidence? I recalled that both the driver and the housekeeper were hired by my wife, Rhea. She claimed they were distant relatives of hers and assured me they were trustworthy.
Still, I wanted to install security cameras in the house, but Rhea insisted it would invade our privacy. She refused. Now, without any footage, I had to find the truth another way.
Then I remembered something else. Rhea once asked me for a credit card. I assumed it was for her personal use, so I didn’t question it. But just a few days ago, I noticed a huge charge — someone had bought an LV handbag. At first, I thought it was Rhea. But the more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed. Rhea wasn’t into that brand.
Curious, I opened my banking app and checked the transaction history. But my heart sank upon seeing it.
In just one month, nearly 30,000 dollars had been spent on that card.
I called one of the stores to ask about the purchase, and what I heard made my blood boil. The clerk told me the buyer was a young girl, about fifteen, with a mole on her face.
It was Astrid.
The clerk also told me she was very generous at that time as she even treated each of her two friends who traveled with her with bags.
Fighting to stay calm, I checked the dashcam footage from the driver’s car. But as soon as I watched it, the veins on the back of my hand bulged with rage.
The driver was supposed to take Zera to school every day. But the footage showed him only ever driving Astrid.
Where was Zera? How did she get to school?
I needed answers. I stormed outside to confront Astrid but ran into someone unexpected — Carter Johnson, our part-time gardener and a distant relative of mine — a trustworthy man.
He only came by a few times a month to tend to the garden, but I paid him a full salary regardless. He was always hardworking, occasionally helping around the house when needed.
I saw surprise in his eyes when he saw me, but it was soon replaced with hesitation.
"Carter," I said, pulling him aside. "You looked like you had something to tell me. What is it?"
He hesitated, then sighed. "Floyd, I don’t know if I should say this… but you need to keep a closer eye on things at home."
I pressed him for answers, and he finally told me everything.
"That housekeeper of yours? She’s a thief. I’ve caught her sneaking things out to sell more than once. She even hikes up prices on groceries and pockets the difference. When I confronted her, she threatened to break my legs if I ever spoke up."
His face darkened. "And the driver… He’s no better. I said something once, and the housekeeper called him over. He threatened to kill me if I didn’t shut up. If it weren't for you, I would have left long ago."
"And Astrid?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"Spoiled rotten. I once saw her pouring fresh milk down the drain just to wash her feet and face. When I told her to stop wasting food, she called me a ‘worthless old farmer’ and said I had no right to tell her what to do."
Uncle Carter’s eyes filled with regret. "I’ve also always seen her push Zera around. Yell at her. Even hit her."
My hands clenched into fists as rage surged through me. Immediately, I instructed someone to look up the trip histories of the drivers and vegetable merchants the nanny often works with.
Then, I found Zera and gently asked her if Astrid had been bullying her. But she hesitated, eyes darting nervously, and only shook her head.
Left with no choice, I just checked her phone, only to find a video that made my blood run cold. Only then did she confess everything with a terrified look.
In the video, a group of girls shoved Zera into a corner, kicking and punching her. One girl even jammed a filthy mop into her mouth and jabbed the handle into her back repeatedly.
