Disguised as a Cleaner, a Journalist Faces the Unexpected When a Millionaire Recognizes Her Pendant – Story of the Day

The office hummed with the familiar sounds of keyboards clicking, phones ringing, and the occasional burst of laughter from a distant corner.

Laura sat at her desk, papers scattered around her, but her focus was elsewhere.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Reggie, the editor-in-chief, stepped out of his office.

His eyes scanned the room until they landed on her. He looked tired—more tired than usual—and his face carried the weight of disappointment.

“Laura… come to my office for a minute,” he said. His tone was calm but firm. He held the door open, waiting for her to follow.

Taking a deep breath, Laura rose from her chair and walked toward Reggie’s office, each step feeling heavier than the last.

“Sit down,” Reggie said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

“Reggie, I was just about to tell you about a new article I’m working on,” she began, trying to sound upbeat. “It’s about the chemical pollution in a nearby lake—”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to discuss with you,” Reggie cut in, sighing as he sank into his chair. He folded his hands and looked directly at her.

“Laura, pollution in forests, lakes, the extinction of… what are they called again?”

“California condors,” Laura said, her tone sharp.

“Condors, yes.” He nodded.

“People don’t care about this stuff, Laura. They don’t read it. And it’s not just my opinion—the data backs it up.”

Laura’s brow furrowed. “But people should care, Reggie! This isn’t just about nature; it affects our health, our communities—everything!”

Reggie leaned forward, his voice hardening.

“It doesn’t bring in money. We all need to eat. Salaries need to be paid, and I can’t pay someone who isn’t generating revenue.”

Reggie softened his tone, removing his glasses and rubbing his temples.

“I like you, Laura. You’re talented, and you care about your work. That’s why I’m trying to help you.”

“How?”

Reggie slid a photograph across the desk. It showed an elderly man with a stern expression.

“This is Mr. Weiss,” Reggie said. “You know who he is, don’t you?”

“A wealthy man,” Laura murmured, studying the image.

“The wealthiest man in the city,” Reggie corrected.

“Rumor has it he’s been spending tens of thousands on private investigators. Years of it.”

“And?” Laura asked, confused. “It’s his money. Why does that matter?”

“Why would an old man need private investigators?” Reggie leaned back, a sly smile forming.

“Mistresses, scandals, maybe even crimes. Find anything—and I mean anything—about his expenditures, and spin it into a story. This could be the article that saves your career.”

Laura hesitated. “And if I can’t?”

Reggie’s smile faded. “Then I’d recommend you start looking for another job.”

The cold air nipped at Laura’s cheeks as she stood in front of the grand estate, its towering gates and sprawling lawn exuding wealth and history.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and rang the doorbell.

The heavy wooden door creaked open slowly, revealing an elderly man. His figure was slightly hunched, his face marked by deep lines of exhaustion.

Dark circles framed his eyes, and his scruffy beard looked like it hadn’t been groomed in days.

“Good morning, Mr. Weiss,” Laura said with a polite smile that she hoped masked her nerves.

“My name is Laura. We spoke on the phone about the cleaning position.”

“Good morning,” Mr. Weiss replied, his voice quiet and tinged with weariness. “Come in. Forgive the mess; there’s plenty of work to keep you busy.”

Laura stepped inside, her eyes widening as she took in the space.

A thick layer of dust covered the once-pristine surfaces, cobwebs adorned the corners, and books and papers were scattered haphazardly across the rooms.

“As you can see,” Mr. Weiss continued, “I really need the help. Start wherever you’d like. I’ll be in my study.”

With that, he turned and shuffled away, closing the study door behind him.

“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Weiss,” Laura called after him, but he didn’t respond.

Through the brief crack before the door shut, Laura glimpsed his desk. It was cluttered with papers, photographs, and what looked like old receipts.

Her heart raced—this could be where the secrets were buried.

Laura spent the next hour cleaning the house, her movements mechanical as her mind churned with plans.

Finally, she approached the study door and knocked softly. “Mr. Weiss, I’m coming in to clean—”

“No!” His voice was startlingly sharp as the door opened just enough for him to peer out.

“The study doesn’t need cleaning. Thank you for your work today. If you’ve finished the other rooms, you’re free to leave.”

“There are still a couple of rooms left,” Laura replied, feigning disappointment, but her mind was already racing.

The study was off-limits, and she was more determined than ever to find out why.

Laura crouched near the sofa, her heart racing.

She glanced toward the study door, still closed, as her mind raced through the plan one more time.

It wasn’t elegant, but it might work. Taking a deep breath, she screamed, her voice sharp and filled with faux terror.

“Aaaaah! Mr. Weiss! Help!”

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway. Moments later, Mr. Weiss appeared, his face a mask of alarm.

“What happened?” he demanded, clutching the edge of the doorway.

“There’s a rat!” Laura cried, pointing under the couch with a trembling hand. “It just ran under there! Please, I can’t stand rats—they terrify me!”

“A rat?” Mr. Weiss frowned, his brow furrowing.

“That’s impossible.” He grabbed a broom leaning against the wall and knelt to peer under the couch.

“Where? I don’t see anything. Did it run out?” he asked, poking around with the broom handle.

“I… I don’t know!” Laura stammered, backing toward the hallway. “Just keep looking. I’ll hide in the kitchen!”

Mr. Weiss grumbled but continued his search, muttering to himself about how unlikely it was.

As soon as he was fully distracted, Laura moved quickly. She slipped into his study, closing the door as quietly as possible.

The room was dim, illuminated only by a small desk lamp. Papers were strewn across the desk—receipts, handwritten notes, and photographs.

Laura’s journalist instincts kicked in as she pulled a small camera from her pocket and took pictures.

Her hands trembled as she worked quickly, her breath shallow.

Then she saw it. Among the scattered documents was a detailed sketch of a medallion.

She froze, her pulse hammering in her ears.

Reaching for her necklace, she pulled the small pendant from under her blouse and held it next to the sketch. They were identical.

“Laura.”

The low, heavy voice sent a chill down her spine. She turned to see Mr. Weiss standing in the doorway, his face shadowed.

“I told you not to come in here,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of anger and pain.

Her hand instinctively clutched the pendant. Mr. Weiss’s eyes widened as he stepped closer, his gaze fixed on the pendant.

“Where did you get that pendant?” he asked, his voice trembling. He reached out, his hand shaking as he touched the necklace.

“Tell me! Where?”

“It was my mother’s,” Laura snapped, pulling back.

“Your mother…” Mr. Weiss whispered, his face pale. “Was her name Dora?”

Laura’s breath caught. “Yes. How do you know that?”

Mr. Weiss’s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor. Tears welled in his eyes as his voice broke.

“Dora… my sweet Dora. She had a daughter…” He looked up at Laura, his expression filled with anguish. “Forgive me. Please forgive me.”

Laura staggered back, her hand gripping the desk for support. “You knew my mother?”

“I’m your father,” Mr. Weiss said, his voice raw with emotion.

The words hit her like a blow. “You left her!” she cried, tears streaming down her face.

“You abandoned her—and me! She struggled every day because of you!”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“I was a coward. I was afraid of responsibility, afraid of being a father. I’ve regretted it every day. I tried to find her, but she cut all ties. Tell me—where is she now?”

“She’s gone,” Laura spat bitterly.

“She died ten years ago. She got sick, and it’s your fault. She fought so hard to survive, but she was alone because you weren’t there.”

Mr. Weiss crumpled, his body wracked with sobs.

“I never stopped looking. I never stopped loving her. I’m so sorry, Laura. I’m so sorry.”