Chapter 2 - THE BOY WITH THE BASEBALL CARD
“Does he play?” Walter Bennett’s voice was raspy, but the genuine curiosity in his eyes made Rosa pause. She looked at the baseball card trembling lightly between the old billionaire’s fingers.
“He tries,” Rosa said, her voice softening. “He loves the game more than anything. But he gets tired easily. His heart... he’s had two surgeries since he was born. Running the bases isn't something his doctors recommend just yet. So, he collects the cards, memorizes the stats, and dreams about the day he can pitch from a real mound.”
Walter lowered the card slowly, placing it on the small mahogany table beside his wheelchair. His sharp, pale blue eyes, which had intimidated boardrooms and crushed rival corporations for five decades, locked onto Rosa’s face. For the first time since she had arrived at the Bennett estate, someone was looking at her not as a fixture, but as a human being.
“A dreamer,” Walter murmured, a faint, melancholic smile touching his lips. “The world is built by dreamers, Rosa. But it is usually crushed by those who only know how to take. My son, Nathaniel, used to dream. Before the money became the only oxygen he breathed.”
Rosa shifted uncomfortably, clutching the empty silver tray against her apron. It was a golden rule in domestic service: never engage in personal discussions about the family, and certainly never agree with a criticism. “Mr. Bennett is a very successful man, sir. The whole country knows what he’s built.”
“He didn't build it,” Walter corrected sharply, a sudden fire in his tone. “I built it. Nathaniel merely expanded it. But in expanding it, he lost the soul of it. And now...” Walter’s gaze drifted toward the grand double doors of the sunroom, as if he could see through the walls to the driveway where Victoria Hale’s silver Porsche was often parked. “Now he is about to marry a woman who knows the price of everything and the value of absolutely nothing.”
Over the next few months, these afternoon conversations became a ritual. Rosa would bring Walter his tea, and instead of leaving him to stare blankly at the manicured gardens, she would stay. She told him about Mateo’s fascination with the New York Yankees. She told him about her father, the man who washed dishes and fed the homeless.
In return, Walter spoke of his late wife, Eleanor. He spoke of the days when Bennett Industrial Supply was just three trucks and a rented warehouse. He spoke of the terrifying, exhilarating days of building something out of nothing.
But as the date of Nathaniel and Victoria’s engagement gala approached, Walter’s demeanor shifted. He grew quiet again, calculating. Victoria had taken over the estate’s planning, sweeping through the halls like an empress. She snapped at the staff, demanded impossible floral arrangements, and openly mocked Walter’s medical equipment, insisting his wheelchair be “hidden away” during the party so as not to ruin the aesthetic of the photographs.
Rosa watched it all from the shadows, her blood boiling, but her face composed. She saw how Victoria looked at Walter—not with pity, but with outright disgust. To Victoria, Walter was merely a dying obstacle between her, Nathaniel, and absolute control of the Bennett fortune.
One afternoon, exactly two days before the gala, Victoria stormed into the sunroom while Rosa was adjusting Walter’s blanket. Victoria didn't even knock. She was on her phone, pacing furiously in her designer stilettos.
“No, I told you white orchids! Not cream, not ivory, stark white!” Victoria snarled into the receiver. She hung up and glared at Walter. “Do you have any idea how stressful this is? The governor is coming, Walter. Try to look presentable on Saturday. And for god's sake, don't drool on the silk tablecloths.”
She didn't wait for a response before pivoting on her heel and marching out.
Rosa stood frozen, her hands gripping the edges of the wool blanket. She looked down at Walter, expecting to see humiliation. Instead, she saw a predator. Walter’s eyes were entirely clear, completely lucid, and terrifyingly cold.
“Rosa,” Walter said, his voice dropping to a low, steel whisper. “Lock the door. And bring me my private phone. Not the one the nurses use. The black one in the bottom drawer of my desk.”
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Rosa hesitated for only a fraction of a second. She walked to the door, turned the heavy brass lock, and retrieved the hidden phone. When she handed it to him, Walter didn’t just take the phone; he grasped her hand firmly.
“A person tells you who they are by the way they treat someone who cannot improve their life,” Walter quoted, his eyes shining. “Your father was a wise man, Rosa. Tomorrow afternoon, my private attorney is coming through the service entrance. No one is to know. Especially not Nathaniel. It is time I set a trap for a viper.”
