Brenda’s eyes darted nervously between Mr. Moore and me, her body trembling slightly.
“Claire,” she pleaded, “I just wanted to celebrate my birthday at home. Why do you have to treat me like this? Please, talk to the family for me…”
Her pitiful act only earned a round of snickers and exchanged glances from the crowd.
“Wait, so you really are a fake heiress?” one classmate scoffed. “You were calling Claire a dog trainer this morning, and now you’re begging for her help?”
“Are you serious?” another chimed in. “If you’re just a maid’s kid, what’s the point of faking being rich?”
“I can’t believe it! A maid’s daughter slandering the real heiress as a dog trainer? If I were Claire, I wouldn’t have stopped at letting the dog loose.”
Brenda’s face burned red, her tears on the brink of spilling as she fumbled for a defense. But Mr. Moore wasn’t having it.
“Brenda, why are you still standing here? Your family’s butler is waiting for you in the records room.”
Robert?
That didn’t add up. Mom had sworn during our video call that every last snake on the staff had been dealt with. Robert should’ve been long gone–what was he doing here?
Confused, I turned to Mr. Moore. “You’ve got it wrong. The Sinclair butler’s been dismissed. No way he’s at the school.”
