Julian stared down at the kneeling maid with absolute disbelief, his jaw tightening as he looked from her tear-streaked face to the shattered porcelain on the floor.
Julian: You are out of your mind. Get up right now and clean this disgrace before I have you thrown off the estate grounds.
Clara: Please, Mr. Sterling! Look at the ribbon in her hair! Look at the small scar right beside her left eyebrow!
The older housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, stepped forward quickly, holding a dusting cloth to her chest as she shook her head at Clara.
Mrs. Gable: Mind your tongue, girl! You're speaking to the head of the family estate. That painting was commissioned by his late mother twenty years ago!
Julian: She’s clearly hysterical, Mrs. Gable. Fire her immediately and call security to escort her past the gates.
Clara: The ribbon was made of silk from my grandmother’s old dress! My real mother tied it on me the morning I was taken to the foster shelter!
Julian froze just as he turned his back, his posture going rigid in the bright hallway light.
Julian: What did you just say about the shelter?
Clara: I was seven years old. A woman took me from a playground and told me my family didn't want me anymore. That painting... I sat in a chair while a man painted me with that exact blue ribbon!
Mrs. Gable: Mr. Julian, don't listen to her lies. The young lady Victoria passed away in a tragic hospital illness when she was just a child. We all buried her!
Clara: Then why is my face hanging on your wall?
Julian turned around slowly, his blue eyes scanning Clara’s features with a sudden, sharp intensity that replaced his initial rage with deep confusion.
Julian: My sister died in a private medical facility in Boston. The trust fund was closed, and her share of the inheritance was absorbed back into the family estate.
Clara: Look at me, Mr. Sterling! Look at my eyes!
Julian stepped closer, his expensive shoes crunching slightly against a piece of broken porcelain near Clara's knee.
He crouched down until he was at eye level with the young maid, examining the small crescent-shaped scar near her eyebrow.
Julian: Victoria got that scar when she fell off the iron bench near the garden fountain. I was holding her hand when it happened.
Mrs. Gable: Sir, this is nonsense! A maid cannot be a Sterling heiress! She must have read about the family history in the newspapers!
Julian: The scar was never mentioned in the press, Mrs. Gable. Only three people knew about it: me, my mother, and the family doctor.
Clara: I remember the fountain. I remember a boy in a dark suit who cried because my head was bleeding.
Julian’s breath hitched, a sudden pale shock washing over his face as he stared at the woman kneeling in front of him.
Julian: You... you remember the boy?
Clara: You gave me a peppermint from your coat pocket to make me stop crying.
Julian stumbled back slightly, resting one hand against the wall near the frame of the portrait.
Julian: My mother told me she died. She showed me the death certificate and the sealed coffin.
Clara: I was dumped at St. Jude’s Children's Home three weeks later with no name, no papers, and only that blue ribbon in my pocket.
Julian: If you are Victoria... then who was buried in our family plot twenty years ago?