The polished white marble steps in the high foyer felt slick and freezing under the morning light.
Seven-year-old Toby held his little red plastic airplane tightly against his chest, backing away from the top edge of the staircase.
Victoria stood over him in an icy, light blue gown, her diamond bracelets clattering against the carved railing.
Victoria: You never watch where your dirty shoes are going on my clean floor, do you?
Toby: I was just waiting for my dad! He told me to wait right here by the library!
Victoria: Your father isn't here to hold your hand today, you clumsy little stray.
Toby: Please don't touch me! I want my dad!
Victoria: Accidents happen so easily in big houses...
Victoria stepped forward and shoved both of her hands straight into the boy's chest with cruel force.
Toby shrieked as his small sneakers lost grip, his body tumbling headfirst down the steep flight of stone risers.
Toby: Help me!
Down on the ground floor, Clara dropped her feather duster and broke into a desperate sprint across the tiles.
Her black uniform snapped as she charged up the first five steps, diving with both arms outstretched.
Her body took the full impact of the falling boy, knocking the breath from her lungs as she slid across the stone.
Clara: I've got you sweetheart! Don't you ever dare to touch him again!
Clara stood straight up on the steps, her right hand whipping through the air with a deafening crack across Victoria's face.
Victoria: You filthy maid! How dare you lay a finger on me!
The heavy front doors banged open with an explosive boom as heavy dress shoes hit the marble floor.
David Whitman marched into the grand hall in a dark charcoal suit, flanked by two armed police officers.
David: What is going on here?
Toby: Daddy!
Clara: Check the security cameras, Mr. Whitman, it's all there!
The officers drew their cuffs, but none of them knew the secret waiting in the safe.