Chapter 2 - HE CAME HOME READY TO FIRE HER AND FOUND OUT SHE HAD BEEN WORKING WHILE SICK
Gunther stood beside the bed for several seconds longer than necessary.
Kayla did not stir.
That bothered him.
Most people who slept lightly enough to survive in his world reacted to changes in air, footsteps, shadows, voices.
Kayla had not reacted to a duvet being ripped from her body or a loaded weapon pointed three feet from her chest.
She was not merely asleep.
She was exhausted past normal sleep.
Gunther leaned closer.
“Hey.”
Nothing.
His irritation vanished completely.
“Wake up.”
He touched two fingers to her shoulder.
Kayla jerked awake with a broken gasp.
Her eyes opened wide.
For one confused second she stared at Gunther without recognition.
Then she saw where she was.
Saw him.
Saw the bed.
Every trace of sleep disappeared.
“Oh my God.”
She scrambled upright.
The sudden movement made her sway.
“I’m sorry.”
Gunther watched her grip the mattress.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Stay still.”
“I can explain.”
“Sit.”
She was already sitting.
The absurdity almost irritated him.
Kayla pushed the hair from her face.
“I finished everything except taking the laundry downstairs. I sat down because I got dizzy. I was only going to rest for a minute.”
Gunther glanced toward the clock.
3:29 a.m.
“How long was your shift?”
Her eyes dropped.
“Since ten yesterday morning.”
“Seventeen hours?”
“About that.”
“Who authorized it?”
“Mrs. Gable.”
Gunther’s jaw hardened.
“And you agreed.”
“Double time.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Kayla finally looked at him.
“I need the money.”
There was no plea in her voice.
No attempt to soften him.
Just fact.
Gunther noticed something else.
Her lips were pale.
Too pale.
“Stand.”
She hesitated.
“Why?”
“Because I want to see if you can.”
Her face flushed.
“I’m not drunk.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I don’t take anything at work.”
“I didn’t ask that either.”
Something like annoyance flickered in her expression.
Good.
Fear was easier to manipulate than irritation.
She stood.
Immediately, her knees buckled.
Gunther caught her before she hit the floor.
For the first time in years, another person’s full body weight landed against him without calculation.
Kayla’s forehead struck his shoulder.
Her hands grabbed his shirt.
Then she went limp.
“Kayla.”
He did not know why he remembered her name.
Maybe Mrs. Gable had used it.
Maybe one of the payroll reports.
Maybe he had heard Sam mentioned once.
He carried her to the bed and reached for his phone.
His private physician answered on the second ring.
“Gunther?”
“Come to the estate.”
“It’s three-thirty.”
“I’m aware.”
“What happened?”
“One of my employees collapsed.”
Silence.
Then:
“I’ll be there.”
Twenty-six minutes later, Dr. Nathan Ellis stood in the master suite while Kayla sat beneath a blanket looking deeply humiliated.
Gunther remained near the windows.
He told himself he stayed because an employee had collapsed on company property.
Nothing else.
Dr. Ellis checked her blood pressure twice.
Then frowned.
“When did you last eat?”
Kayla thought.
“Lunch.”
“What time?”
“Maybe one?”
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
Gunther’s expression changed.
Dr. Ellis looked toward him.
“Could we have some privacy?”
“No.”
Kayla spoke before Gunther could.
“He can stay.”
That surprised him.
The doctor continued.
“Any medical conditions?”
“No.”
“Medication?”
“Occasional ibuprofen.”
“Pregnant?”
Kayla blinked.
“No.”
Gunther looked away for reasons he didn’t examine.
“Menstrual cycle normal?”
Kayla flushed.
“Usually.”
“Recently?”
“Heavier.”
Dr. Ellis nodded.
“Any unusual bruising?”
Kayla’s face changed.
“Sometimes.”
“Hair loss?”
She instinctively touched her head.
“A little.”
Gunther straightened.
That list sounded less like overwork.
Dr. Ellis ordered bloodwork immediately.
A mobile medical technician arrived before dawn.
At 5:42, preliminary results came through.
Severe iron-deficiency anemia.
Low potassium.
Dehydration.
And something Dr. Ellis did not expect.
Elevated arsenic.
Not enough for acute poisoning.
Enough for chronic exposure.
Gunther’s entire body became still.
“What?”
Kayla stared at the doctor.
“I don’t understand.”
Dr. Ellis looked serious.
“Have you had any exposure to pesticides, old wells, industrial chemicals?”
“No.”
“Do you live near contaminated groundwater?”
“No.”
Gunther asked:
“Cleaning products?”
“Most commercial cleaning agents don’t explain this pattern.”
Kayla swallowed.
“My apartment building is old.”
“Possible.”
Gunther’s mind had already shifted.
Exposure.
Pattern.
Access.
Threat.
“Where does she eat?”
Kayla looked at him.
“What?”
“At work.”
“Staff kitchen.”
“Drink?”
“Water.”
“From?”
“The employee dispenser.”
Gunther picked up his phone.
Kayla immediately said:
“Don’t.”
He turned.
“Don’t what?”
“Turn this into an emergency because one blood test looks strange.”
“It is an emergency.”
“We don’t know that.”
“You collapsed.”
“Because I worked seventeen hours without dinner.”
“And because something is in your blood.”
Her eyes hardened.
“Then test again.”
That stopped him.
She was right.
Proof.
He hated it.
“Fine.”
Dr. Ellis nodded.
“Good.”
Gunther looked at him.
“Do not sound pleased.”
The second test confirmed arsenic exposure.
Then they tested the water in Kayla’s apartment.
Clean.
Her tap at work.
Clean.
Staff dispenser.
Clean.
Cleaning products.
No significant arsenic.
Gunther’s suspicion deepened.
The exposure was real.
The source was not obvious.
By noon, Kayla had fallen asleep again in a guest room after refusing hospitalization.
Gunther sat in his study with Victor Romano.
Victor looked across the desk.
“You almost shot a maid in your bed.”
Gunther’s expression made him stop smiling.
“What?”
“She has chronic arsenic exposure.”
Victor went still.
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Targeted?”
“Unknown.”
Gunther handed him laboratory report.
Victor read.
“Could be environmental.”
“Could.”
“You think someone is poisoning staff?”
“I think somebody works in my house seventeen hours, collapses in my bed, and turns out to have arsenic in her bloodstream.”
Victor leaned back.
“That is a sentence I did not expect today.”
Gunther said:
“I want employee health records for anyone reporting similar symptoms.”
“Medical privacy.”
“Get consent.”
Victor raised an eyebrow.
Gunther noticed.
“What?”
“You said get consent.”
“Yes.”
“That’s new.”
“Victor.”
“Fine.”
Within hours, five current staff members agreed to testing.
All negative.
Kayla alone.
Then Mrs. Gable entered.
The head housekeeper was sixty-one, narrow-faced, efficient, and almost impossible to intimidate.
“Mr. Woods.”
“Why was Kayla working seventeen hours?”
“Two staff members called out.”
“You could have brought temporary help.”
“Security protocols.”
“You could have postponed drapes.”
Mrs. Gable looked toward Victor.
Gunther noticed.
“Why did you need my bedroom finished last night?”
Silence.
“Mrs. Gable.”
Her expression tightened.
“I was told you would return tomorrow evening.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
She looked at Victor again.
This time there was no missing it.
Gunther slowly turned.
“Victor.”
Victor frowned.
“Why is she looking at you?”
Mrs. Gable spoke.
“Because Mr. Romano told me the master suite had to be completed before dawn.”
Silence.
Victor stared at her.
“I said the room should be ready before Gunther returned.”
“You specifically said before six.”
Gunther looked at Victor.
“You knew I was coming home early?”
“No.”
“You drove me home.”
“After midnight.”
Mrs. Gable continued:
“He called at seven yesterday evening.”
Seven.
Before the Chicago negotiation ended.
Before Gunther knew he would return.
Victor’s face changed.
“That's impossible.”
Mrs. Gable took out her phone.
Call log.
Victor Romano.
7:03 p.m.
Three minutes.
Gunther looked at his oldest friend.
Victor stared at the screen.
“I did not make that call.”
Mrs. Gable’s face went pale.
Gunther said:
“Someone spoofed his number.”
Maybe.
Then another question arrived.
Why force the master suite to be cleaned overnight?
Why Kayla?
Mrs. Gable answered quietly:
“I didn’t choose Kayla.”
Gunther’s attention sharpened.
“Who did?”
She swallowed.
“The call said Kayla Hughes specifically.”
Victor stopped breathing.
Gunther’s voice became colder.
“Why her?”
Mrs. Gable shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Then one of Gunther’s security analysts entered without knocking.
That alone told him something was wrong.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We pulled hallway footage from last night.”
“And?”
“Someone entered your bedroom at 12:58.”
Kayla had entered around midnight.
She was cleaning.
“Who?”
The analyst looked uncomfortable.
“Not Kayla.”
Gunther stood.
“A man.”
“What man?”
“We can’t see his face.”
“He uses staff corridor.”
“Leaves five minutes later.”
“And?”
“He’s carrying something.”
The analyst placed still photograph on desk.
A small amber bottle.
Mrs. Gable whispered:
“Oh my God.”
Gunther looked toward upstairs.
At the woman he had nearly fired.
The woman sleeping in his house.
Then the analyst added:
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“We checked the badge used at the staff entrance.”
Gunther waited.
“It belongs to Samuel Hughes.”
Silence.
Kayla’s younger brother.
May you like
The man who could barely walk without specialized braces after an industrial accident.
And whose security badge showed he had entered Gunther Woods’s bedroom at one in the morning.
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