The Servant You Mocked Is Now a Quadrillionaire Heir

Chapter 6

Helen pressed her fingers against her temples, closing her eyes as if trying to physically push away the chaos erupting around her. The master bedroom felt suffocating—her mother's shrill voice still echoing off the walls, Charlie's careful concern hovering at the edges, the empty space in the safe like an accusation.

"This is a misunderstanding," Helen said finally, her voice strained but firm. "It has to be."

Jenny whirled on her daughter, eyes flashing with indignation. "A misunderstanding? Helen, are you hearing yourself? The necklace is gone and so is that leech—what part of that is unclear?"

"Ethan wouldn't steal." Helen's tone was weary, defeated almost, but she held her ground. "He has his faults—God knows he has plenty of them. He's vain, he lacks ambition, he never lived up to his potential—but he's not a thief."

"How can you be so blind?" Jenny's voice rose to a near-shriek. "That man lived off you for three years! He bled you dry emotionally and financially, and now that you've finally woken up and kicked him out, he takes the most expensive thing he can carry as his parting gift!"

"Mother, stop."

"I won't stop! That parasite needs to be held accountable!" Jenny's hands trembled with rage as she pulled out her phone. "I'm calling the police right now. We'll have him arrested before he can pawn it."

"No." Helen's voice was sharp enough to cut through her mother's fury. "We're not calling the police. Not yet. Not until we know for certain what happened."

Jenny opened her mouth to argue, but Charlie stepped forward smoothly, his expression thoughtful and carefully neutral.

"Helen's right," he said gently, placing himself between mother and daughter like a mediator. "We shouldn't rush to conclusions. I mean..." He hesitated, as if reluctant to continue. "I don't want to believe Ethan would do something like this either. He always seemed so... principled. Maybe there's another explanation."

Jenny rounded on him. "What other explanation could there possibly be?"

Charlie spread his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. "I don't know. Maybe Helen moved it somewhere and forgot? Or maybe someone else had access to the safe?" Even as he suggested alternatives, his tone carried just enough doubt to undermine them. "Though, I have to admit, the timing is suspicious. Ethan leaves suddenly, refuses to explain himself, and now this..."

"Exactly!" Jenny seized on his words like a weapon. "Even Charlie sees it, Helen. And he's been defending Ethan all night!"

"I just think we should be absolutely sure before we destroy someone's life," Charlie said, his voice heavy with false reluctance. "But if Ethan did take it... well, then he's not the man any of us thought he was."

The implication hung in the air, poison wrapped in concern.

Helen looked between them—her mother's righteous fury, Charlie's calculated sympathy—and felt exhaustion settle over her like a blanket. "We'll figure it out tomorrow," she said flatly. "Right now, I'm going to bed."

She turned and walked toward her bedroom, her shoulders rigid, her footsteps heavy. The door closed behind her with a definitive click.

Jenny stared after her daughter, frustration written across every line of her face. "Unbelievable. That ungrateful thief robs her blind and she still defends him."

Charlie was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then he tilted his head, as if struck by sudden inspiration. "You know... there might be another way to handle this."

Jenny turned to him sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Social media." Charlie's voice was soft, almost apologetic for even suggesting it. "I hate to say it, but scandals involving wealthy families—people eat that up. If we posted about what happened, put some public pressure on Ethan... he might return the necklace just to make it go away."

Jenny's eyes lit up, malice and satisfaction blooming across her features like a flower opening to poison sunlight. "That's brilliant," she breathed. "Absolutely brilliant."

She pulled out her phone immediately, fingers already flying across the screen. Her social media presence was carefully cultivated—fifty thousand followers who watched her every post, hungry for glimpses into the lifestyle of the wealthy. Photos of designer handbags, exotic vacations, charity galas where she rubbed elbows with the elite. Her audience loved her, envied her, hung on her every word.

And now she would give them a scandal.