Chapter 11 - The Sheriff's Number on the Card
HR's office was smaller than I expected. No windows facing the lobby, just a side room off the staff wing with a gray filing cabinet and a desk where Ms. Evelyn kept a box of tissues she never pushed toward you unless you asked.
She closed the door behind me and sat down, not across from me like an interrogation, but on the same side, with a notepad already open.
"We logged your statement this morning," she said. Her voice was even, not soft in a way that felt like pity. "That means I have to follow the next step exactly as the county requires. I'm not calling 911. I'm calling the sheriff's victim advocate. It's a voluntary interview. It happens at their annex in town, not here. You can say yes or no to every part of it."
I stared at the corner of her desk. A chipped mug that said County Human Resources Conference 2022. A stack of printed forms with the estate's letterhead.
"Does Victor know?" I asked.
"Not yet," she said. "And he won't until the advocate advises on the no-contact directive. That's done through us as the employer, not face to face. Your housing is separate from that process now. Evelyn's note is already in the file."
The door knocked once and he stepped in. Not Victor. The boss.
He didn't sit. He stood near the filing cabinet with his hands in his pockets, like he was trying to take up less space.
Evelyn looked at him and then back at me. "Mr. Rhys asked to offer a few things, and then he will leave so you can decide without him in the room."
He nodded at me. "Rosa told me you didn't sleep."
I didn't answer.
He kept his voice low. "I can give you paid leave starting today. I can have the lock on the apartment above the garage changed this afternoon and give only you and Evelyn a key. I can have Luis drive you to the annex and wait in the lot. You don't have to do any of it. You can also keep your regular day shifts with Rosa, if you want normal hours, and I'll make sure you're escorted between buildings. You choose."
Three options laid out like they were actually options, not orders. I felt my throat tighten because I was waiting for the catch.
"Do I have to take leave to be believed?" I asked.
"No," Evelyn said quickly. "Your job and your hours are protected."
He looked at the floor for a second. "I'd rather you didn't have to walk past his office tomorrow morning. But it's your call."
I thought about the bucket in the supply closet and the checkered tiles and how empty the staff wing felt when I wasn't on the clock. If I stayed home, I'd stare at the apartment walls and listen for footsteps.
"I want to keep working," I said. "Days. With Rosa. And I'll take the ride. But I want to walk in by myself."
Evelyn wrote that down word for word. He just nodded once and left without touching anything.
The sheriff's annex wasn't what I pictured from TV. It was a low brick building behind the county courthouse with a shared parking lot and a sign that said Victim Services - Side Entrance. No sirens, no cells. Luis parked under a maple tree and said, "Take as long as you need. Text me when you're done. I'll be right here."
Inside, the air smelled like coffee and copy paper. A woman in her forties with a navy cardigan and a county ID badge met me in a small interview room with two chairs and a table and a box of water bottles. Her name was Carla Reyes. She didn't wear a uniform or carry a gun.
"This is voluntary," she said, sliding a small card across the table. It had her name, direct number, and the annex address. "You can stop anytime. You can decline photos. You can decline any question. My job is to explain options, not to decide for you. Do you understand?"
I said yes.
She explained it plainly, with pauses so I could ask. There were three paths: I could give an informational statement that would be documented without a criminal report, I could make a formal report that would start an investigation, or I could do the interview and photos now and decide later within the time limit. If I chose photos, she would take them only with my written consent, and they would be stored securely. The no-contact directive she mentioned wasn't an arrest. It was an employer order, issued through HR, telling Victor he was not to contact, approach, or schedule me while the review was pending. Violation would be documented separately.
"Can I think about the photos?" I asked.
"You can," she said. "Many people feel more in control if they consent to just the areas they already disclosed, and nothing else. We can also do them another day."
I looked at my hands on the table. The reddened knuckles from the cleaning solution, the faint yellow along my forearm I had tried to cover with my sleeve that first morning on the lobby floor.
"Just the neck and shoulder," I said. "The way Evelyn wrote it. No more."
She nodded and handed me a one-page consent form. I read it twice. It said voluntary, dated today, and that I could withdraw. I signed.
She was careful. She asked before each movement. "May I lift the back of your collar an inch?" "May I take one with the overhead light on?" The camera was a small county-issued tablet, not a phone. The shutter sound was soft. She never touched me beyond holding the fabric, and she narrated what she was doing before she did it. When she finished, she showed me the screen with the images turned away so I only saw the thumbnails, and asked if I wanted a copy sent to Evelyn's secure file. I said yes.
When we sat again, she laid out the safety plan on a single sheet: housing secured independent of Victor - Evelyn had already emailed me confirmation that the garage apartment was re-keyed and my lease addendum no longer listed the house manager as emergency contact; work schedule days only, paired with Rosa; escort between buildings; her card for 24-hour call; and the no-contact directive that Evelyn would deliver in writing tomorrow morning.
"Victor will be notified through HR, not by deputies at your door," she said. "He will not be arrested today. An investigator will review the statement and photos and the pattern from the prior employee. If they need to speak with you again, it will be here, with me present if you want."
I held the card. The number was printed in plain black ink. No gold foil, nothing fancy like the mansion letterhead.
On the ride back, I didn't cry. Luis kept the radio off. At the estate gate, the boss was standing near the staff entrance with Rosa, not hovering, just there. Rosa opened the van door for me.
May you like
Evelyn was waiting in her office with a new key in a small envelope. She slid it over and said, "This is yours only. Maintenance doesn't keep a copy. Sheriff's advocate copied."
I put the key and the card in my apron pocket, and for the first time the white apron didn't feel like something he could pull.
