My MUM’S secret lock
1218 Words
MILLIE'S POV
The Oslo mansion looked different in the morning light.
I'd lived here for most of my childhood, but standing in front of it now felt like facing a stranger. It didn’t even feel like I’d been here since my return home.
The ivy climbing the stone walls seemed overgrown, almost menacing. The windows stared down at me like empty eyes.
"You okay?" Braham asked from beside me.
I nodded, though my hands were clenched into fists at my sides. "Let's just get this over with."
Leo was at the estate with Callie, who'd been more than happy to spend the day with him. I'd told her we had some legal matters to handle, which wasn't entirely a lie.
"Where's the study?" Braham asked as soon as we got inside.
"Second floor. East wing." I started up the grand staircase, my heels clicking against marble that used to feel like home.
My mother's study was at the end of the hall. The door was closed but not locked.
I hesitated with my hand on the handle.
"Take your time," Braham said quietly.
I pushed the door open.
The room had been completely transformed. Where my mother had kept elegant furniture and organized filing systems, Sabrina had installed gaudy decorations and chaotic piles of papers.
The mahogany desk was buried under makeup catalogs and fashion magazines. The walls that had held my mother's favorite artwork now displayed cheap prints of Paris and New York.
It made my chest ache.
"The filing cabinets," Braham prompted gently.
I blinked away the threatening tears and pointed to the corner. "There."
Three large filing cabinets stood against the wall, their dark metal surfaces looking out of place among Sabrina's tasteless décor. They were exactly as I remembered…tall, imposing, and very securely locked.
Braham crossed to them and examined the locks. He tried the first drawer. It didn't budge.
"These are serious," he murmured, running his fingers over the lock mechanism. "Military-grade, maybe. Your mother wasn't taking any chances."
"Can you open them?"
He shot me a look. "I'm an Alpha, not a safecracker."
Despite everything, I almost smiled. "So what do we do?"
"We call the locksmith." He pulled out his phone. "I reached out to someone last night. He said he could be here this morning."
"How do you know we can trust him?"
"Because he's a werewolf. And he owes me a favor." Braham was already dialing. "Yeah, we're here. Second floor, east wing... Okay. See you in ten…"
While we waited, I wandered around the study, looking for anything else that might be useful. Sabrina's desk was a mess of bills and invoices, most of them stamped "PAST DUE" in angry red letters.
"She's broke," I said, holding up a stack of overdue notices.
"Without your father's income and Martha's schemes, she has nothing," Braham observed. "That's probably why she was so desperate yesterday."
I felt a flicker of satisfaction, then immediately felt guilty for it.
A knock at the door made me jump.
A man in his early forties entered…tall, lean, with graying eyes. He carried a heavy toolbox that looked well-used.
"Alpha," he greeted Braham with a respectful bow, then turned to me. "Ms. Harvey."
Braham gestured to the filing cabinets. "Three of them. All locked tight. We need them open without damaging the contents."
The locksmith set down his toolbox and approached the cabinets, examining them with a professional eye. He let out a low whistle.
"Haven't seen locks like these in years. Whoever installed them knew what they were doing." He glanced at me. "Your mother?"
"Yes," I said quietly.
"Smart woman." He pulled out various tools from his box. "This is going to take some time. These aren't the kind of locks you can pick quickly."
"How long?" Braham asked.
"Each one? Maybe thirty minutes to an hour. Maybe more if the mechanisms are rusted." He was already working on the first lock, his movements careful and precise. "You might want to make yourselves comfortable."
I settled into the chair behind the desk…my mother's chair… while Braham stood by the window, keeping watch.
The minutes ticked by slowly. Jonas worked in focused silence, occasionally muttering under his breath or switching tools. The soft clicking and scraping sounds filled the room.
I found myself staring at the cabinets, wondering what secrets they held. Had my mother known? Had she suspected something was wrong before she got sick?
"Got it," he said suddenly. “Several attempts had been made to break it before.” He said offhandedly.
The first drawer slid open with a metallic groan.
My heart jumped into my throat. I stood and crossed to the cabinet on shaky legs.
Inside were dozens of manila folders, neatly labeled in my mother's precise handwriting. I recognized it from old birthday cards I'd kept hidden in my room.
Then I saw something that made my jaw drop and my heart stopped beating for God knows how long. Sabrina Norman- personal assistant.
You mean Sabrina was working side by side with my mom and all along… I looked up at Braham whose face was filled with questions and concerns.
"She was my mom's personal assistant." My voice cracked. Braham moved to hug me, but I pulled away, focusing back on the files. I had no time to show weakness now.
"Financial Records 2003" "Legal Documents - House" "Contracts - Oslo Group" "Personal - Private"
My hands trembled as I pulled out the folder marked "Personal - Private."
Inside were letters. Dozens of them. Some in envelopes, some loose. I recognized my mother's handwriting, but there were others too…unfamiliar scripts.
"What is it?" Braham asked, moving closer.
"Letters," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "She saved letters."
I pulled one out at random. It was dated March 2004…just two months before she died.
My dearest June,
I must warn you again about the woman you've employed. There is something about her that troubles me deeply. The way she looks at your husband, the way she hovers... Please, for your safety and Millie's, reconsider keeping her in your home.
Your friend, Eleanor
The letter slipped from my fingers.
"Millie?" Braham's hand was on my shoulder.
"Someone warned her," I whispered. "Someone told my mother to get rid of Sabrina. But she didn't listen."
I grabbed another letter, this one from someone named Margaret.
June, I saw her at the pharmacy yesterday, picking up something that looked like medication. When I asked if you were ill, she became very defensive and hurried away. I may be paranoid, but something feels wrong. Please be careful.
Letter after letter, all from the last few months of my mother's life. All warning her. All expressing concern about Sabrina.
And my mother had locked them away but done nothing.
"Why?" I asked, tears streaming down my face now. "Why didn't she fire Sabrina? Why didn't she listen?"
"Maybe she did listen," Braham said gently. "Maybe that's why she locked these away. She was gathering evidence."
"Evidence for what? She died before she could use it!"
The locksmith cleared his throat awkwardly. "The second lock is open, Ms. Harvey."
I wiped my eyes and moved to the second drawer, my heart still pounding from what we'd already found.
This was only the beginning.
- Writer
