The room was dim, lit only by the late afternoon sun filtering through the half-drawn blinds. I stood there in the small, cluttered living room of my employee, a place I’d never expected to find myself. On the coffee table sat a stack of unopened bills, their envelopes slightly yellowed at the edges. A number caught my eye—$1,200, scrawled in red ink at the top of the pile.
“Is this why you’ve been working overtime?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. She didn’t look up, just continued folding laundry in silence.
Her calm reply came after a pause, “It’s not what you think.”
That’s when I noticed the frayed edge of the carpet near the corner. Kneeling down, I pulled it back slightly to reveal a hidden compartment in the floorboards. My heart sank with the implications of what it could hold.
The quiet, the secrets, the unspoken truths hung heavy in the air as I realized the depth of the situation. It wasn’t just about money; there was something much deeper at play.
And I knew this was just the beginning of what I was about to uncover.
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