THE TRILLIONAIRE BUTLER

Chapter 7

The gala had ended, and now everyone had moved to the gallery section of the Whitehouse. Lady Fredith leaned dramatically on her cane like it was her staff of office.

“I never trusted that woman,” she said, loud enough for every aide and eavesdropper to hear. “That Hillary. The one my dear nephew married.”

Eric Pason was quietly dusting a bookshelf, pretending not to listen, but his ears were wide open. The glint in Lady Fredith’s eyes meant trouble.

President Tate chuckled awkwardly, adjusting his tie. “Aunt Fredith, Hillary’s been by my wife for years. She’s been nothing but supportive.”

“Supportive?” Lady Fredith raised her brow like she was about to sneeze judgment. “Please, Richard. That woman couldn’t support a flower pot without letting it rot.”

Raynor cleared his throat. “With all due respect, ma’am, the First Lady has proven her loyalty to the presidency, especially during international tours. She has presence.”

“She has presence, yes,” Lady Fredith fired back, “just like smoke in a cathedral.”

DSS Malcolm, who was sipping from a crystal tumbler by the mantle, chuckled. “Lady Fredith, you must admit, Hillary does command a room.”

“She devours a room, dear boy,” Fredith said, pointing her cane. “With fake grace and surgically preserved charm. I see through her.”

Eric glanced up for a second. Fredith caught it.

“Even the butler agrees,” she smirked.

“I didn’t say anything, ma’am,” Eric replied politely.

“You didn’t need to, child. Eyes speak louder than lips,” she declared, sipping from her glass as if it were a microphone drop.

Then the doors opened.

And in came Hillary Tate, wrapped in an emerald dress with a neckline made for cameras; her hair was perfect, her smile forced.

“Speaking of the devil,” Fredith announced, loud and proud.

Heads turned as everyone looked at her, but she paused and kept her chin up.

“Lady Fredith,” she greeted with a tight smile. “Still thriving, I see.”

“Oh, always,” Fredith said sweetly. “Some of us age with dignity… and husbands.”

A sharp silence.

Hillary stepped closer, smile tighter. “We all wear masks, Fredith. Some are just heavier than others.”

Fredith chuckled. “Indeed. Yours must be made of lead.”

Tension hung like a negotiation between the US government and Iraqi terrorists, one word away from flying bombs and bullets.

“I can see I'm not in any bit welcomed here at the moment.” Hillary said to the president,”

“I wonder why it took you so long to find out.” Fredith scorned.

Hillary turned and walked away, her head high and her pace fast. The door shut behind her like a final word.

“Christ, Aunt Fredith…” President Tate exhaled, muttering.

“I'm protecting your silly ass from her charm and seduction.”

“Aunty…”

“She’s hiding something, Richard. You may be president, but you're blind. That woman… she’s poison in pearls.” Fredith lit a cigarette with a gold lighter.

Raynor chuckled to ease the room. “You’ve got quite the talent for drama, my lady.”

Fredith smirked. “Darling, I am the performance.”

As the tension loosened, DSS Malcolm turned toward Eric, who was gathering up his cleaning supplies as silently as he had arrived.

“You. Butler,” Malcolm said lazily. “Pick up the pace, this isn’t your living room.”

Eric kept his expression flat. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re lucky to even be employed here. Plenty of street sweepers out there would kill for that uniform.”

Eric gave a polite nod, biting down every word he wanted to say.

Fredith, eyes narrowed, watched the exchange. “Funny how you all expect anything good from a mere butler.”

Laughter exploded, with Raynor laughing the hardest like someone who just won a jackpot. Then his phone vibrated.

At the same time, DSS Malcolm’s phone dinged in his blazer pocket. He pulled it out with a grunt.

“What the hell is this?” Raynor muttered, eyes narrowing as he scrolled.

DSS Malcolm’s brow furrowed. “No. No-no-no. This has to be a joke.”

Raynor looked up, voice raised. “Is this some kind of prank?”

The president and Lady Fredith turned subtly to listen. Eric, now placing a glass on the silver tray at Malcolm’s elbow, smiled inwardly.

Raynor walked briskly over to Malcolm. “Did you get the same thing? About the university?”

Malcolm showed him the screen. “I got that, and something else. The resort. The whole goddamn resort’s been bought out.”

“Wait, what?”

Eric calmly placed another drink on the table, trying harder not to laugh. He had used his newfound wealth to buy out Malcolm’s destination resort and replace his name in the alumni hall instead of his ex-father-in-law's.

Raynor turned, locking eyes with Eric. “You.”

Eric raised a brow. “Sir?”

Raynor stormed toward him. “Don’t ‘sir’ me. I just received a $50 million anonymous donation receipt… to my alma mater.”

Everyone around them paused, interest piqued.

“Oh,” Eric said, blinking innocently. “How generous.”

“Generous?” Raynor hissed. “They’ve removed my name from the alumni hall, and replaced it with yours. Yours, Eric Pason!”

Malcolm now stepped forward, holding up his phone. “And who the hell cancels a presidential suite reservation… books out an entire resort… replaces it with a bloody charity fundraiser, and has me listed to serve drinks?”

A silence fell. Even Lady Fredith raised an eyebrow from across the room.

Eric straightened, tucking the serving towel into his arm with mechanical grace. “Sounds like someone’s doing some much-needed community work.”

“Who’s pulling the strings?” Raynor demanded, stepping close. “You’re a poor butler, for Chris' sake!”

“Am I?” Eric asked with sarcasm.

Malcolm’s mouth twitched. “What game are you playing, Pason?”

“I’m only a butler, nobody special,” Eric replied coolly.

Raynor looked stunned. “You bastard. You actually bought your way into that alumni wall?”

He was right, but he had to deny.

“Me?. ..where would I get such an amount of money from?”

Lady Fredith tried to suppress her laughter. Even Tate choked slightly on his Whiskey.

“You arrogant little…” Malcolm began, stepping forward.

But Eric raised a hand calmly. “Careful, Mr Malcolm. You wouldn’t want to spill your own reputation all over that fancy tux.”

“Now, Raynor, you're funny to a fault.” Lady Fredith leaned against her chair and let out a long laugh.

“Wouldn't you know a rich person if you see one?... Does this butler look like he had smelt wealth at any point in his life?”

Everyone plunged into laughter, and even Eric couldn't help but laugh.

Just then, Mr Faraday's voice rang across the lounge.

“ERIC!!”