It was a room designed to intimidate, and it usually did — dark wood, tall windows, a desk the size of a small boat, the quiet machinery of a man who was used to people being afraid when they entered.

Juliet came in and stood before the desk with her hands folded, and she was clearly nervous, but she did not tremble the way people usually trembled in that room.

“You were hired to clean this house,” I said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then tell me why you are caring for my mother.”

She hesitated, choosing her words.

“Because she was scared,” she said finally.

I stared at her.