THE TRILLIONAIRE BUTLER

Chapter 8

Faraday roared again

“Why is the chandelier in the First Lady’s chambers still half‑hanging, and you are still alive? You call yourself competent? Fix it now!”  

Eric turned to everyone in the room, who were now breathing hard from their laughter, picked up his tools and hurried down the hallway toward the First Lady’s wing.  

He knocked, then swung the door gently. Inside, at the centre, stood Carter Brooks, muscular, dangerous, and a face set as if he had escaped purgatory.

Eric froze as the hulk of a man turned.

“You again? Why do you show up every damn time I wannahave a good time?”  

Eric swallowed. “Sir, I was told to replace the chandelier; there was a complaint from Faraday.”

“Unless you're here for any other motive, I see nothing wrong with this Chandelier.” Carter looked at the Chandelier while eyeing Eric.

Hillary emerged from her bathroom smelling like holiness and hygiene. Her robe was half-open and her hair dishevelled in deliberate art. She folded her arms.

“Carter, relax,” she said. “This poor butler is the least of our problems now. You know what needs to be done. Lady Fredith is a thorn in my flesh, and I want her removed.”  

Carter’s face tightened. His eyes glinted. “You mean… kill her?” he asked, voice gravelly.

Hillary nodded. “Yes. Tonight. Do it. Make it look clean, like something else. I want her gone.”  

Eric paused. Where are they actually planning to kill Lady Fredith?... God!

Carter flipped the knife in his hand with a fluid motion, blade catching faint light.

“I’ll do it.”

Eric watched Carter; the mere thought of pulling a knife at someone's throat thrilled him. He was such a psychotic, cold-blooded animal.

“Did you say something, boy?” Carter turned to him, but he shook his head.

“No, sir.”

Carter turned, stepping toward the door as Hillary watched him go, her expression thin. “Be swift. Don’t come back until it’s done.”  

Carter was made to walk out when his phone chimed. He pulled it out mid-step and read the message on the screen. His mouth contorted into a wide smile.

“What’s that?” Hillary frowned.  

Carter tugs the phone into his trousers. “I’ve got urgent business, something now. I’ll finish this when I return.”  

He turned and strode out, the blade snipping close.

“Don’t fail me,” Hillary called after him.

Eric remained frozen at the threshold. He watched Carter’s disappearance into the shadows, the echo of his footsteps fading.  

Eric heaved a sigh of relief. He was the one who just sent the message to Carter, so he could buy Time to plant the DNA evidence in Lady Fredith's room. Of course, his plan was to expose the first lady.

He stepped back respectfully and nodded. “Ma’am… I’m done fixing the chandelier now.”

“So what, I should clap for you for doing your job or what?” Hillary barked.

“Sorry, ma'am.”

He bowed and took the exit, but once he was out of her sight, he sprinted towards Lady Fredith's chambers.

Bad thing: she had refused the regular Secret Service security and personally hired technicians to install her custom triple-fortified lock system; one tamper trip would trigger alarms throughout the house.

No room in the White House was harder to enter than Lady Fredith’s. Except Eric was not “everyone.”

He reached her door. It was solid and reinforced with Titanium steel bolts and dual codes.

He pulled a tiny pin from his vest pocket and placed his palm gently against the biometric reader. Cold and dead light as expected.

He popped open the first mechanism panel and got to work. His fingers danced.

First layer: bypassed.

He paused and listened. No beep.

Second layer: retinal scanner override. He used a small lens cap filled with saline and a dummy pattern.

It beeped. Accepted.

The third layer was the trickiest—manual keypad.

He took a breath and knelt. Then Inserted the pins and listened to the dial mechanism turn.

The rings rotated and the gears shifted. He stopped, placed his ear and rotated the dial counterclockwise.

CLICK. It opened

The door made a low hiss, and he slipped in like a sinner before Heaven's gate banged shut, forever.

Once inside, he reached the ornate oak writing desk beside her bed, which was stacked with books, memos, and half-read letters.

From his vest, he pulled out a leather pouch. Inside was the DNA report showing that Quentin Tate was not the President’s daughter, but Carter’s. Also included are documents proving that Hillary forged the original birth certificate and paid off the doctor.

He placed the evidence carefully inside a pale blue folder marked “Confidential: Family Health.”

Then he slid it subtly beneath Lady Fredith’s favouritecrossword puzzle booklet.

He took a step back to observe. Good, everything was exactly the way it had been. Nothing broken, nothing misaligned.

Then his phone buzzed, low and urgent. It was an unknown caller with no caller ID, just a black screen and a deep      modulated voice.

“Eric!”

Eric didn’t speak immediately; his thumb hovered over the end-call button.

“This is Vigilante. You have less than one hour to extract the gold.”

He tensed.

“I repeat,” the voice continued, cold and measured. “You have less than an hour to move the gold towards the Eastern Front of the Whitehouse, where we are waiting.”

Eric opened his mouth. “Big five said I had two days…”

The line clicked and went dead.

“Damn it!”

He had less than one hour, and that was it.

He turned sharply, his mind already spinning plans into motion, routes, vents, bypass codes and patrol schedules. He had to improvise.

Then SLAM.

The sound snapped like a gunshot, and Eric spun around.

Lady Fredith’s heavy titanium door had slammed shut… on its own. The hallway echoed. And then the locks clicked back to their default state. The gear mechanisms re-engaged.

Eric’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell…?”

He stepped back to the door and tapped the biometric panel.

It was dead.

He entered the manual override.

ACCESS DENIED.

“No, no, no…”

His hand shot to his pocket to get the pin, but they were gone, lost and dry.

DAMN.