He Slapped My Six-Year-Old for a Blue Notebook—Then I Realized My Housekeeper Knew My Dead Wife’s Secret

The false panel was expertly concealed.

Even with Marina showing us, I would never have noticed it on my own.

Inside the back of the cabinet, behind two fixed ledgers, there was a pressure latch worked into the carved wood. When pressed at the correct angle, a narrow panel swung open.

The compartment was empty now.

But dust patterns inside told another story.

Something rectangular had been stored there for a long time.

The notebook.

And something else.

Larger.

Flat.

Possibly a file envelope or document folder.

“Was there anything else inside?” I asked.

Marina hesitated.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“A sealed envelope.”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

I held her gaze.

“You just told me where the notebook had been because you saw Isabella move it. So tell me exactly what you saw.”

Marina took a shaky breath.

“The night before your trip, Isabella was in the study after midnight. She took the notebook out. She took a white envelope out too. Then she heard someone in the hall and hid the envelope somewhere else.”

“Who was in the hall?”

“I only saw a shadow.”

“Was it Edmund?”

“I don’t know.”

That was possible.

Or it was a lie of omission.

Still, the hidden compartment proved one crucial thing.

Isabella had deliberately concealed evidence in our home.

And she had concealed it from everyone—including me.

Not because she didn’t trust me.

I would eventually understand.