“This woman?” I repeated softly.
Daniel swallowed.
“You’ve worked beside me for three years,” I said. “You’ve eaten at my table. Celebrated holidays in this house. And in all that time, did you ever ask who Eleanor really is?”
I walked to the coffee table and calmly picked up the papers he had thrown in anger.
Daniel laughed nervously.
“Marcus, come on. She’s the housekeeper. I know you’re fond of her, but let’s not argue over the help. We have a meeting with Japanese investors tomorrow.”
That was it.
The fatal mistake.
Daniel measured people by money, titles, and suits. To him, Eleanor was furniture—something you kick when you’ve had a bad day.
The Woman He Never Saw
I turned to Eleanor and gestured for her to come closer. She hesitated, then stepped forward.
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She was still trembling.
“Daniel,” I said, “this is Eleanor Ramirez.”
“Fifteen years ago, when I had nothing—no money, no company, no future—this woman fed me. I lived in a rented room and sometimes had nothing to eat. Eleanor worked double shifts cleaning offices and brought me a hot meal every night.”
Daniel blinked, confused.