Chapter 3 - The Leather Tote
Vanessa’s eyes darted from Ethan’s tear-stained face to my rigid, towering posture standing over him. For a split second, the polished mask slipped, revealing a flash of cold, calculating calculation before she quickly rearranged her features into a look of wounded, motherly concern.
"Oh, thank goodness you're back," Vanessa breathed, pressing a manicured hand to her chest. "Ethan, darling, why are you out from under the stairs? I told you quiet time in the alcove was for your own good. You've been having another one of your behavioral episodes, haven't you?"
"Shut up, Vanessa," I said.
The three words weren't loud. They didn't carry the theatrical fury of a man throwing punches. They carried the flat, terrifying resonance of an executioner’s verdict.
Vanessa blinked, her lips parting in feigned shock. "Arthur? What on earth has gotten into you? Did something happen at the corporate summit? You look at me as if I'm a stranger."
I slowly stood up, placing Ethan gently behind my leg, shielding him from her view. I walked past her toward the kitchen counter where her cream-colored leather tote bag sat next to the marble fruit bowl.
"Arthur, what are you doing? That's my personal bag," Vanessa said, her voice rising an octave as she hurried across the hardwood floor, her heels clicking sharply against the planks. "You have no right to go through my things—"
My hand dipped inside the tote bag and brushed against smooth cardboard and leather. My fingers wrapped around a thick, brown-covered composition notebook secured tightly with a green elastic band.
I pulled it out into the light.
Vanessa lunged forward with a sharp cry, trying to snatch it from my grasp. "Give me that! That's private!"
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I raised my arm out of her reach, stepping back as I hooked the green elastic band with my thumb and snapped it open. The pages fell forward, revealing neat, cramped, childish handwriting—and beneath it, harsh, professional annotations written in red ink.
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