Ally's Wolf: A Billionaire Shifter

Romance (Maid for the Shifter Book 1)

Charlene Perry
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Ally’s Wolf
Maid for the Shifter, Book One
Charlene Perry
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All rights reserved.
All contents Copyright © 2022 by Charlene Perry
Cover designed by GetCovers

Edited by Jen Boles & Kate Gallagher

Published June 30, 2022
 Contents

1. Ally
2. Adam
3. Ally
4. Ally
5. Adam
6. Ally
7. Ally
8. Adam
9. Ally
10. Ally
11. Adam
12. Ally
13. Adam
14. Ally
15. Adam
16. Ally
17. Ally
18. Ally
19. Adam
20. Ally
21. Ally
22. Ally

Thank You
What’s Next?
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
 Ally

There’s a small part of me, buried deep under bad memories and gratitude for the opportunities this
city has offered, that misses the simplicity of life in a small town. I ignore the familiar ache in my legs
and shield my eyes from the late afternoon sun, mumbling an apology as I nearly collide with a
pencil-skirt wearing woman in too much of a hurry to notice.
Maybe it made little sense to haul my overstuffed tote bag three miles across the city. But cabs are
expensive, and buses take too long. Well, maybe a bus would have been faster, but those
overcrowded germ factories are so not worth it.
As much as I dislike the packed streets and persistent aromas of gasoline, fast food, and people—
moving to the city was the best decision I ever made. It was a leap of faith, driven by a need to
escape my shitty house and dead-end hometown, but it led me to find my best friends and a fresh start.
Lia and Kira gave me a place to stay, a shoulder to cry on, and the courage to take a chance on my
own business.
Mom was a hard worker, and so am I. There’s no time for laziness or luxury, she used to say.
Though, what she called luxury I call self-care, and I’m not opposed to making time for that when my
schedule allows. I spent some time on the streets. I worked some tough jobs to keep food in my belly
and get a roof over my head. That’s a life I won’t go back to.
I reach my destination and crane my neck to look up at the glass building towering in front of me.
VX Enterprise. My aching legs say a silent prayer that their elevator isn’t down for maintenance, like
that high-rise condo I worked in last week.
But this job should be a quick one at least. And while the guy that hired me was a bit of a creep
over the phone, he offered double my usual hourly rate to fit him in by five p.m. today. And scoring
these uptown gigs is what will take this little startup to the housekeeping major leagues: cleaning
houses for the rich and famous.
Not that an upper-class toilet is any different from a lower-class one, but the tips sure vary.
A cab pulls up behind me and a ginger-haired woman in a suit that likely cost more than my entire
wardrobe steps out. She’s talking on her cell and carrying a Gucci laptop bag as she hurries toward
the wide front doors.
I glance down at my faded navy scrub pants and black T-shirt, then make sure every strand of my
dark hair is tucked safely into its bun. I tighten the strap on my worn tote bag, making a mental note to
either repair or replace its deteriorating band this weekend. For someone who prides herself on
organization, I’m aware that I’m also impressively adept at procrastination.
Finally, I straighten my posture and head through the doors.
The elegant exterior doesn’t come close to doing this place justice. The lobby is a wide, open
space that screams money. There’s a shimmering chandelier suspended from the domed ceiling, and
the reception desk looks more like abstract art than a functional workspace. In the center of the
gleaming marble floor, a huge, crystal wolf is frozen mid-stride with a rush of water cascading
around its lifelike paws as if it’s splashing through a river. I’m not sure if the intention here is to
impress or intimidate, but I suspect anyone walking through the doors feels a little of both.
“Can I help you?”
Tearing my eyes away from the wolf fountain, I meet the judging eyes of a receptionist. It’s a look
I’m more than familiar with. It was the same look my stepmother would give me. An expression used
by snobby, rich women to ensure someone like me knows exactly where they stand.
I hoist my tote bag a little higher, ignoring the pang of tension in my shoulder as I step up to the
desk with my chin held high. Her petty attempt at intimidation doesn’t bother me. I’m not ashamed of
who I am or what I do. I worked damn hard to get here.
“I’m here for—”
“The service entrance is around the back,” the receptionist snaps. “Perhaps you’d be more
comfortable entering through there.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s clear by the way she’s looking at me that her helpful tip isn’t
intended as a suggestion, but I don’t have the time or energy to deal with this.
I turn my back on her sneering face and head for the bank of elevators on the far side of the lobby.
I’ve got a name and a floor number, and a place like this likely has a logical directory system.
After I locate the correct room, which was hardly a difficult feat, I push open the unlocked door
and slide my bag to the floor, kneading my knotted shoulder as I survey the scene in front of me.
What a mess.
This office is on par with any teenage bedroom I’ve had the unfortunate luck to be tasked with
cleaning. Discarded paperwork and used tissues litter the floor, along with empty soda cans and
forgotten takeout. Even the creamy carpet is a muddied mess from whatever happened here.
And the smell. Ugh.
But the truth is, no matter how overwhelming a job can seem, I honestly love the process. I get a
sort of rush out of seeing the transformation. And it’s an honor being invited into someone’s home or
office to help them with a task they either don’t have the skill or time for. To give them a clean,
organized space to relax or work in. That’s my job. Starting this business with Lia and Kira wasn’t
about me settling for something less than I wanted out of life, though there was a time I couldn’t have
imagined loving work like this.
Living under my stepmother’s roof, learning to clean with speed and efficiency was a survival
skill. Back then, housework was used as punishment, and I viewed it as a cruel and unnecessary task.
But after a short time living without a roof over my head or an address to call my own, I grew to see
housework in a new light. Being able to maintain a space you call your own is a privilege.
I pull on a pair of elbow-high, non-latex gloves and a mask, and I get to work.
Thirty-two minutes. That’s how long it takes me to transform this place from dumpster to uptown
high-rise office. Speed and efficiency; my professional motto.
“Hello, Miss Mills.”
I turn at the vaguely familiar voice, then step aside as the man who hired me strides through the
door to give the now-pristine office an inspection.
“Hello, Mr. Felker. You’ve got excellent timing. I just finished up.” I gesture to the room that
smells like fresh lemons instead of rotten food. “What do you think?”
He huffs out a breath, abandoning his inspection and turning his attention to me. His eyes are
bloodshot behind oddly crooked glasses, and now that I look a little closer at the rest of him, his shirt
is untucked and his tie hangs loosely around his pudgy neck.
“Excellent timing, indeed.”
His tone is laced with sarcasm as his beady eyes give me a once-over, making the hairs stand up
on my arms. This guy is officially giving me the creeps.
I stuff the last few cleaning items into my tote, eager to make my exit. The zipper decides to put up
a fight, so I leave it half open and sling it over my shoulder, forcing a smile and hoping my intuition is
wrong and I’m not about to get hit on by the client.
“Would you prefer to pay with cash or card today?” I ask him.
He takes a step toward me, and I take a step back.
“Cash. And we can make it double if you throw in a little something extra.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Give me a sample of those beauties.” He blatantly eyeballs my breasts as his
mouth curves into a sickening smile. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How about this?” I hoist my bag up higher, gripping the strap with both hands. “You pay me what
you owe me, and I’ll pretend you didn’t just say that.”
He laughs, like my refusal is amusing to him. I feel heat rising in my cheeks, but I want my damn
money.
“You’re a maid. You’re so far beneath me you should be happy I’m even looking at you, let alone
offering you the chance to earn more money than you’re worth.”
I bite my tongue. This isn’t the first time I’ve been the target of disgusting lowlifes like him
looking for easy prey. But I expected that kind of trash talk on the streets, not in an upscale place like
this.
I take a breath. “Give me what we agreed upon, nothing more and nothing less. You’ve clearly had
a bad day, so we’ll forget your temporary lapse in judgement. Just pay me what you owe.”
He shakes his head with a chastising click of his tongue. “Turning down my offer isn’t a good
idea, maid.” He inches closer and I grip the straps of my tote even tighter. “You can give me what I
want or I can make sure no one in this district hires your shitty little maid service ever again.”
Fuck.
A nauseous mix of anger and fear churn in my gut. I can see the victory in his eyes. He knows he’s
backed me into a corner. With my next rent payment due and the future of our business in his clammy
grasp, what choice do I have but to give in to his demands?
“Go to hell,” I reply, my deliberately calm tone masking the fury churning in my gut.
My statement wipes the smirk off his ugly face, and I take a small bit of satisfaction from it as I
turn on my heel and walk away with no money and my dignity intact.
But as the elevator doors slide closed, my resolve falters. Not that I’d ever resort to doing sexual
favors for money—no disrespect to consenting adults who do that for a living. But while I’d rather
starve than cower to that asshole, the thought that he might have the means to follow through with the
second part of his threat has my heart racing.
It’s bad enough to have wasted my time, energy, and supplies on a job for no pay, but if he uses his
connections to ruin my reputation, that could be the end of my uptown clientele.
Because of one filthy-minded idiot.
I keep my back tight to one corner of the elevator, my eyes on the floor as it opens and closes for
faceless suits on its way down to the lobby. I guess it’s the end of their workday, too. When the doors
open at ground level, I wait for everyone else to exit before leaving. I veer away from the group and
skirt the pompous wolf fountain to avoid facing that snobby receptionist again. After what happened
upstairs, I don’t think I have the patience to deal with her without losing my shit.
As if I needed one more thing to kill the last remaining threads of my optimism, a telltale tearing
sound has me clutching at my bag as the strap gives way.
“Damn it!”
There’s no way I’m walking miles across the city clutching this heavy thing like an infant. I look
around and spot a bathroom near the elevators. I can hide out there long enough to repair the damn
thing.
As I turn, I collide with a solid wall of overpriced suit, losing my grip on the traitorous tote bag
and dropping it to the sound of cleaning supplies clattering across the marble.
“What the fuck?” The suit growls at me like a freakin’ guard dog.
I ignore him, even though my lady bits are insisting that’s the sexiest voice I’ve heard outside of a
daydream, and crouch down to shove my things back into the cursed bag that’s betrayed me for the
last time.
I’m not interested in seeing the condescending expression that goes with that baritone growl, no
matter how sexy it sounded. He’s no doubt looking down at me like I offended the gods by daring to
step into his path.
“Get this garbage out of my way,” he growls.
I suck in a breath through clenched teeth. I’ve been ripped off, blackmailed, and threatened by one
pig in a suit today. I can’t deal with another entitled douchebag thinking they’re better than me. I stop
grabbing for my things and rise to my feet, which puts me at eye level with a chest that, in other
circumstances, might impress me by how well it fills out that suit. But not today.
I point my finger at it and meet his eyes, my resolve faltering for just a moment as his dark, almost
charcoal irises meet mine with a look that’s more bedroom than boardroom. His brown hair is neatly
styled, and those deep-set eyes are accentuated by faint lines that imply he might actually smile from
time to time. And that mouth. Full lips and a strong jawline dusted with just the right amount of
scruff...
But I won’t be placated by a Hollywood-worthy face, even if there’s a tiny, minuscule part of my
brain that’s imagining what it might be like to kiss a man like that. To have him kiss me back.
I clear my throat, returning my focus to the relative safety of his chest before taking a deep,
steadying breath. “I am sick and tired of the arrogant, entitled jerks in this place. Would it seriously
kill you all to act like decent human beings? Did it not cross your mind to apologize, offer your help,
or anything a real fucking man would do?”
I end my rant feeling empowered, even though I’m sure I look like a hot mess. Risking a glance
up, I see his expression hasn’t changed in the slightest.
The lobby is dead silent.
I tear my eyes away to glance around, and I’m met with shocked faces. Even the snobby
receptionist is staring with her jaw slack, a look of horror on her face.
Oh, hell. Who did I just yell at? Am I about to get arrested? Or maybe go viral for being the
clueless chick who didn’t realize she was chastising a Chris?
I switch my gaze back to his, feeling new heat rise to my face as the slightest hint of a smile
threatens to crack his stoic expression. Damn, he’s a lot too sexy. Too bad his personality is anything
but.
“I assure you, I am most definitely a real man.”
I clench my jaw as my ovaries beg to pledge their fealty to this man. Traitors.
 “I said, clean this shit up,” he demands, his eyes never leaving mine.
I don’t think I could look away now if I tried. But then I hear the shuffle of someone picking up my
supplies, and a moment later, my tote bag is pressed into my arms. A young woman hands him
something small—one of my business cards that likely fell out of my bag.
Great. Now he knows where to send the police.
“Maids for You.” He says my business name aloud, and I don’t care that there’s no sarcastic
undertone accompanying it. I’m sure a punch line is coming. I snatch the card out of his giant hand to a
chorus of gasps from the spectators.
He raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing in my building?”
And there it is. I can read between the lines. What’s someone like you doing in my building?
“It doesn’t matter. I won’t be back, asshole.”
Chapter 2
 Adam

Humans know when a predator is in their midst. They can sense it, like a shadow moving at the edge
of their vision, or the feeling that they’re being followed when no one’s there. It’s an instinct they
possess but rarely embrace.
As I step into the bright lights of the pristine, opulent lobby, all who meet my gaze look swiftly
away. They think it’s because my name’s on the building. Because I dominate the boardroom and have
the means to make or break their careers. But it’s far more primal than that.
So when a little human moves into my path, colliding with me and dropping the bag she’d been
clutching, I anticipate the usual string of apologies. But instead, something new invades my senses as
she faces me without a hint of concern for the predator she’s stumbled upon.
It’s been a long time since anyone has dared speak to me like that—human or otherwise. But as I
watch the ballsy little female storm out of my building, anger is the last thing I feel.
I gesture to security to stand down, and the silent room returns to motion as my wolf stirs, shaken
free from the calming spell that enveloped him the moment we caught her scent. Her mere presence
turned him belly-up in a way I’ve never experienced before. And I know what that means as surely as
I know my own name.
I’m fucked.
Taking a mate was never part of my plan, and it never will be.
“Are you okay, Mr. Velovaux?”
I spare a nod in reply to the blonde receptionist, continuing the path I’d been on before my world
was turned upside down. The click of my assistant’s heels trails close behind me on my way to the
bank of elevators.
Human women rarely tempt me. If I’m going to fuck, I’ll take a she-wolf who can handle the
strength and stamina of an Alpha.
My wolf grows more restless as we step into the elevator, its consciousness pulling at mine,
urging me to get the hell out of here and follow that woman.
Ally Mills. That was the name on her business card. If Connie wasn’t by my side, I’d say it out
loud just to feel it on my tongue.
I loosen my tie slightly as the need to run makes my skin feel too tight. One more meeting, one
more hour, then the night will belong to my wolf.
Connie holds up a hand to an impatient man in a gray jacket trying to enter, indicating the
elevator’s full. She earns a scowl from him as she presses the button for the seventh floor. With a
strawberry-blonde ponytail and round, blue eyes, she looks even younger than her twenty-one years.
But while that can be a disadvantage in some situations, she’s a fast learner, obedient to a fault, and
wears confidence like a fine suit. I’d been hesitant to hire the eager she-wolf, but I can’t deny the risk
has paid off.
I don’t make a habit of employing lycans at VX Enterprise. They can be volatile and
unpredictably aggressive—words the staff often use to describe me when they’re unaware I can hear
their whispered gossip. But those closest to me are enlightened humans or of lycan bloodlines,
because even a half-breed Alpha can only keep the beast in check for so many hours in a day.
The doors slide open on the seventh floor, and two women in casual clothes step aside for us to
pass.
“What’s on the agenda?” I ask Connie.
“It’s Mr. Felker, sir.”
I stop mid-stride, and she swerves to avoid colliding with me. “Why am I here at five p.m. on a
Friday for that asshole?”
She clutches her tablet, knuckles white, and lowers her eyes. But a palpable confidence remains
in her posture.
“You said if he hadn’t cleaned up by the end of the week, you’d deal with him personally.” Her
eyes flicker to mine for just a moment, the spark of mischief in them unmistakable.
Fuck. She knew damn well I’d have no patience for Darrel by this point in the week. And that was
likely her intention when she put it in the books for the time I’d be most likely to lose my shit.
No one in this building likes the sloppy, misogynistic actuary, which is in itself of little concern to
me. But my wolf hates the man, and that’s a problem. I can feel the beast bracing for a fight as I reach
the conference room door.
“Mr. Velovaux.” Darrel jumps to his feet as I enter the room, his brow already beaded with sweat.
I stifle a growl when the stink of fear, fast food, and sweat assaults my heightened senses. It’s
enough to make me end this meeting before it begins, but I wouldn’t be where I am today if I let my
animal side dictate my actions.
“We had an agreement, Felker.”
Darrel wrings his hands and turns to look through the window at the city, as if he’d rather be
anywhere but here. His tie is haphazardly tied, his shirt half untucked. His mouth opens, but no sound
comes out.
Humans like him disgust me. If he were a wolf, he’d know his place without question. But his
inflated sense of self-importance and his inability to show respect to his coworkers has finally caught
up to him.
“I expect you to vacate my building immediately. I want your suite cleared out by the time I get
here on Monday.”
That statement makes him stand a little straighter. “Let’s be reasonable, Mr. Velovaux. I’ve
cleaned my office. And I assure you I’ve kept my hands to myself all week.”
I turn to my assistant. “Connie, has Mr. Felker in fact kept his hands to himself this week?”
She looks me straight in the eyes. “Two more sexual misconduct reports filed since Wednesday,
sir.”
I should have kicked his ass to the curb when the first woman reported his behavior, but false
claims happen. I was too distracted by the Swiss deal to get the parties in a room and sniff out the liar
personally. My complacency allowed this lowlife to continue his repulsive behavior unchecked.
I lock eyes with the offensive human, sparing none of the hatred that’s boiling in my veins. “Have
I made myself clear?”
He nods, and I don’t waste another second of my day on his bullshit excuses.
 “Thank you, sir,” Connie says once we’re out of earshot.
“Make sure he’s gone by the time I get here on Monday. And send anyone affected an apology
with instructions to contact me directly if he approaches them again.”
“Yes, sir.” She makes an obvious effort to stifle a grin. “But go for a run this weekend, okay?
Have a little fun. If you keep up this pace, you’re going to shift at your next board meeting, or worse,
give Trixie what she’s been vying for.”
A growl rises in my chest as she loses the fight with her grin, giggling at the apparently humorous
idea of maiming the board or accepting the unrequited attention of a certain blonde receptionist. The
only reason I allow her comments like that is I know she’d never speak to me so boldly in front of
others. She’s also earned my respect and my protection, like all the lycans in my unorthodox pack.
“That’s not your worst advice,” I concede. She beams at the hint of praise from her Alpha. “Why
don’t you take the company card to the Dome this weekend? Get what you need to furnish that little
apartment of yours once and for all.”
Her eyes widen at my mention of the city’s biggest shopping complex. “Seriously?”
“Whatever you need, it’s on me.”
“Thank you! Yes!”
I leave her to wait for the elevator alone, a brilliant smile on her face, as I take the stairs down
two at a time. My wolf wants out, and that meeting only intensified its need to hunt. Connie’s warning
wasn’t far off the mark, although the obnoxious receptionist wouldn’t be my target if my wolf chose
fucking over fighting to blow off some steam.
It’s that maid. If that intoxicating scent was what I think it was, if the fates have truly given me a
human for a mate, then I need to be more diligent than ever at keeping my wolf under control.
A typical lycan can go up to a year without shifting. Betas can make it a month at most. But as an
Alpha, my wolf’s inclined to stretch his legs almost daily, though I typically allow him his freedom
only on weekends. Except for the occasional weekend when work takes priority. Like last weekend,
when my executive team and I spent the entire time courting new investors at a Swiss resort to the
tune of a thirty million dollar deal signed and sealed.
It’s been nearly two weeks since I last shifted, with this deal eating up my evenings as well as my
weekend. A pissed off wolf is a small price to pay for the contract that will see VX officially
breaking into the European markets.
And the next few months should be relatively quiet, which means I can step back and let my
executive team handle the day-to-day. Maybe work from my home office a little more. Take more time
to run. That sounds damn good.
I push through the stairwell doors into the lobby, instantly energized by the sight of the quartz wolf
that dominates the space. Its body is frozen mid-stride and angled in such a way that it beckons me to
follow; to run. It’s an extravagant piece, an elaboration of my company’s logo, designed to send a
message to other business-minded lycans and also to remind me what awaits when the work is done
and the suit comes off.
There’s no greater freedom than the wind in my fur and the power of four legs, with a mind that
cares only about playing, hunting, and fucking.
As I climb into the back of my Model X, motioning for Ben, my Beta, to drive me straight home,
my wolf begins to claw at my ribs. And then her face fills my mind’s eye.
“Ally.”
I give in and say her name out loud. I’m no stranger to beautiful women, but that raven-haired
female is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. And I want to lay far more than just my
eyes on her.
Damn it.
I can’t have her. It’s not an option. Just the idea that a half-breed like me would be gifted a fated
mate sounds like a sick joke. But the fact that she’s human only adds insult to injury. She’d never
survive in my world.
“Everything okay, Alpha?”
Ben looks away when I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. He’s twenty-nine, a year younger
than me, and he’s been my Beta for five years now. Not that I had any intention of taking a Beta.
Traditional pack politics can go fuck themselves. But not unlike the fated mate curse, the moment Ben
and I met we felt the pull.
I tried to warn him off, but he knew my story and didn’t care. Instinct took over and when he
showed me his neck, I sealed our connection with an Alpha’s bite. Since then, he’s been a good friend
and a loyal Beta. And to keep him close without causing suspicion in the human world, he’s also my
driver.
I clear my throat, trying to sound casual. “Is Jessica your fated?”
Ben lives with his young family in a cabin on the western outskirts of my estate. I would have had
them living in the main house, but Jessi wanted their own space. And I suspect she didn’t want to
share her mate with me, considering how she witnessed the intensity of the initial bite. That would
have been a fucking wild night if she’d agreed to it.
His eyebrows raise, but he shakes his head. “No. But I love her just as fiercely.”
I don’t doubt that. Finding a fated mate is a rare event among typical lycans. It’s much more
common in Alphas—nature’s way of ensuring the leaders of our kind keep the bloodlines pure. I
guess my father didn’t get that memo, considering he impregnated a human woman, cursing himself
with me, his half-breed son.
Nature apparently didn’t get the memo, either. Being fated to a human far from ensures bloodline
purity. Hell, maybe nature’s a clever bitch after all, and keeping me from mating with a lycan is the
best way to cull these fucked-up genetics from the greater pack.
“If you were to choose a mate, you wouldn’t have to worry about your fated mate taking you by
surprise,” Ben says.
I scoff at his advice, though in hindsight, choosing might be a preferable option to the mess I’m in
now.
Ben continues. “And if you’ve already found her, resisting is pointless. Your wolf will hunt her
down the first moment you turn your back. But you don’t need me to tell you that.”
He’s right, and debating that fact is truly pointless. Letting Ally walk away isn’t an option. My
wolf has her scent, and he won’t tolerate being separated from her for long. I can keep him in check
for a while if I’m diligent. But he requires more than just the freedom of body each week; he needs
freedom of mind, too. My consciousness takes a back seat when the wolf hunts, and it would only be a
matter of time before I woke up in her house, a trail of terrified humans in my wake.
“I haven’t shifted in nearly two weeks. Just get us the fuck home.”
“Understood.”
I pull out my cell and send a text to my estate manager.
Maids for You. Ally Mills. 555-0362. It’s time we got a full-time housekeeper, don’t you think?
Nolan’s response is immediate.
Sounds delightful. I’ll be happy to stop babysitting the temps.
I put away my phone. Nolan will make it happen, no matter Ally’s price. I won’t take her as my
mate. That’s out of the question. But I can come home each day to her calming scent, almond eyes, and
raven hair. I can satisfy my wolf’s need to protect and care for her without anyone discovering the
truth, least of all her. She’ll be my employee, nothing more.
A maid just for me.
As the lights of the city fade, giving way to darkened country road, my wolf’s clawing turns
violent, the calm my little maid brought fully wearing off.
“Just stop here.”
Ben eases onto the brakes, his eyes flashing in the rearview mirror. “We’re over ten miles from
the estate.”
I ignore him, focusing on the tree line as we roll to a stop. On the side of the deserted stretch of
road, I strip out of my suit and throw everything into the back seat. I don’t wait for him to pull away to
release my hold over the beast, my body twisting until the wolf’s voice fills the night with its
triumphant howl.
Chapter 3
 Ally

“Rise and shine.” I say the words aloud as I fumble to turn off my alarm, the first tentative rays of
sunlight peeking through my window.
The morning chill raises goosebumps across my skin as I crawl out of bed, pulling the blankets up
neatly as I go, so it’s ready for my roommate and best friend, Kira, to sleep. She works the night shift
and I’m an early riser, so the shared space works just fine. We’re both short and slim, so on the odd
occasion when our sleep schedules do sync up, it’s not a problem to cuddle up and share.
I ensure the blackout curtains are closed tightly for her before slipping quietly down the short
hallway for a quick shower. The hot water only lasts so long in our small but affordable two-bedroom
apartment, so it’s all business and no play as I scrub down and rinse off under the tepid spray.
“Morning, sunshine.” My other best friend and favorite roommate, Lia, greets me when I walk into
the kitchen. The smell of eggs and toast makes my stomach growl. I consider myself a morning person,
but Lia takes it to a whole other level.
“Morning.” I swipe a cup of coffee from the gurgling machine and shovel just enough sugar into it,
then sit down at the upcycled picnic table that dominates the small kitchen area. “That smells
amazing.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s just eggs.”
I give her a look and she nods, knowing exactly what I’m thinking. Having a warm breakfast made
for me is a luxury I didn’t have until I moved in with Lia. She pretends she does it for herself, that
cooking the simple meal gives her the energy to deal with her shitty boss all day—which might be
true—but I’m onto her. She’s drawn to wounded creatures and can’t help but nurture them. That’s why
she took me in, making room in her and Kira’s tiny apartment and cooking me breakfast. They’ve both
been my anchors in this city and in my life. I love them like sisters.
And for the past four months, we’ve also been co-owners of our very own housekeeping business:
Maids for You. I’m the only one of us working at it full time now, taking the lead on admin stuff and
doing most of the cleaning gigs. But we dreamed up and made this business a reality together.
Lia slides a plate of scrambled eggs and buttered toast in front of me, then sits on the opposite
side of the table with her own plate.
During the week, she’s all made up in a pantsuit or blouse and skirt combo, with her hair neatly
arranged, and a daytime smoky-eye look that accentuates her sapphire eyes. But on the weekend, she’s
all about sweatpants and letting her lush, golden hair hang loose.
“How was work yesterday?” she asks, taking her first tentative sips of black coffee while I shovel
just a little more sugar into mine.
The reminder of that sleazy creep makes my skin crawl and I shudder.
 “That bad, huh?”
“Only the last bit.” I tell her everything about the nasty office, the disgusting offer and blackmail
attempt, my traitorous tote bag, and that stuck-up suit in the lobby who topped it all off.
“A wall of muscle with a stupid, sexy face? Yeah, he sounds awful.” Lia giggles at my sparse yet
totally accurate description.
He was an asshole. And it’s a cruel joke that he was also the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on in
real life. Maybe it’s just been way too long since I was on a real date. I always care more about
personality than physical appearance, and yet I can’t stop imagining what he looks like under that suit.
How soft his lips would be to kiss. How that dark scruff might feel against my face.
I point a forkful of eggs in Lia’s general direction. “I didn’t mean it in a good way. He was just as
stuck up as the rest of them, thinking they’re better than someone like me.”
“Forget him, sweetie. Both of them. And who cares if Felker’s little circle of friends doesn’t hire
you? There’s plenty of fish in the sea. Soon, we’ll have so much work coming our way, I’ll even be
able to quit my shit job and work for us full time.”
I wish I could bottle Lia’s optimism.
Shit job. She downplays it, but that office is toxic for a woman as sweet as her. Owned by some
wealthy oil tycoon, the company culture is modeled after good old-fashioned patriarchy. Not to
mention the company motto might as well be: Fuck the environment, let’s make money.
“Yes, please. Tell me we got a new gig?” Kira chimes in as she opens the door. She throws down
her bag and kicks off her shoes as she makes a beeline for the remaining eggs.
“Not quite,” I grumble, only partially soothed by Lia’s pep talk. “Some asshole ripped me off
yesterday. And my bag broke.”
“And she got to feel up a sexy billionaire,” Lia adds with a wink.
Kira’s head whips around, her green eyes bright with the promise of juicy gossip. How she’s still
standing upright after working back-to-back shifts is beyond me. That girl’s a machine. She’s working
her ass off to support her mom while she goes through some pretty intense chemo treatments. Kira’s a
freakin’ hero.
“I did not feel him up,” I argue, but while I didn’t intend to run into him, my imagination has spent
way too much time dwelling on that brief moment of contact. “And I never said he was a billionaire.”
“But you touched him?” Kira waggles her eyebrows as she releases her gorgeous, red hair from
its tie, the thick locks falling just past her shoulders. “The only time I get to touch them is when they
drink so much that they need help finding the door. Not exactly appealing.”
I roll my eyes and repeat the story I told Lia.
Kira crinkles up her freckled nose. “Okay, fine. At least my customers can blame their unpleasant
personalities on the alcohol.”
“How was your night?” Lia asks as she leans back in her chair, concern creasing her forehead.
She’s always worrying over us.
Kira shakes her head, a rare expression of defeat clouding her features, as she takes a seat at the
table. She rips off a small chunk of toast and pops it into her mouth. “Some idiot intentionally spilled
his drink on me because I wouldn’t stop to listen to his life story. Then he had the audacity to
complain to my manager, and the damn drink was docked from my tips.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not. But that’s Jared for you. He knows damn well I should be managing, so he takes
every opportunity to remind me where I stand in the pecking order.”
I reach over and take her hand, giving it a squeeze. Kira works a ton of hours at the Golden
Arrow, a twenty-four-hour bar and restaurant on the wrong side of town. She waitresses by day and
tends the bar by night. She’s also total management material, but Jared’s the owner’s cousin, and the
only promotion he has in mind for her involves the backroom stage.
“A new gig will come along soon,” I say. “Then you can quit that bar altogether.”
“And lose those tips?” Kira shakes her head. “No way. A quiet cleaning gig in the mornings
would be great, though. I’d drop the night shift in a heartbeat. Tips suck after midnight.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” I offer.
“And we’ll keep advertising,” Lia adds.
I stand up from the table and carry my dish to the sink while I finish the last of my coffee. Making
this business work is about much more than my own financial security. Lia and Kira are both too
responsible to walk away from steady employment, but they deserve better treatment. Cleaning houses
might not be glamorous work, but it’s our business. We set the terms, and we’re in control.
Maids for You is going to keep growing, I just know it. That’s why I set my alarm for five-thirty,
six days a week. The more jobs I can take and the more time I spend handing out flyers and business
cards, the faster we can reach our goals. And while I’m taking any gig that comes my way right now,
the goal for us is to attract a more upscale clientele who likes to tip. That’s the niche we’re hoping to
break into, but it’s a word-of-mouth clientele, and Mr. Felker is a complication we didn’t anticipate.
It’ll be fine. How much damage can one loud mouth really do?

A week after that shitty Friday, it’s becoming clear that one asshole can in fact do a lot of damage.
Three separate office gigs were canceled on me this week.
Three.
Felker actually followed through with his threat, convincing his contacts to dump me because I
wouldn’t submit to his demand for a sexual favor. I wonder what he told them? That I stole from him,
or just that I did a poor job? Whatever it was, they didn’t hesitate to drop me like a hot potato.
“It’s just a bump in the road, sweetie,” Lia reassures me for the millionth time. “It’ll be fine.
We’ll find better clients. We don’t want to be cleaning offices, anyway. We want to be dusting the
homes of the rich and famous.”
I muster a smile for her, but the sorry fact is those office gigs made up a third of this week’s
income. That’s not an easy hole to fill.
I spent every spare moment this week walking the streets, sticking business cards and flyers in
every available space. But that’s not going to get us the clients we really want. We need those word-
of-mouth connections.
It’s not good enough to be just making ends meet today. I need to make this business work to
where I’m not living paycheck to paycheck, always hoping things don’t fall apart at the seams. And I
need to get Lia out of that office and Kira out of that bar.
I pick up my cell from the coffee table, checking again for any missed messages on our social
accounts. Nothing. I set it back on the table and burrow myself deeper into the sofa’s cushions. I wish
I could enjoy the fact that it’s two p.m. on a Saturday and I have nothing better to do than chill with an
ebook.
“I’ll check again at the office, see if I can snag anyone new,” Lia offers, ever the optimist. “But
it’s Saturday. We can enjoy the weekend and worry about the bills on Monday, right?”
 “I’ll drink to that,” Kira says, raising her coffee mug.
I lift my mug, humoring her. But the truth is that something else is bugging me.
Him.
All week, every time I think about this mess, I can’t help but see that stupid, smug, perfectly
angled face. I can still hear his voice, too. That low, sexy rumble.
I assure you, I am most definitely a real man.
I shiver at the memory of that simple statement rolling off his tongue. After everything I rage-
vomited at him, that was the part he focused on? Was he flirting with me?
Ugh. And why do I even care? He was arrogant and entitled and just plain rude. But damn, he
filled out that suit well. And I have no doubt he was very much a real man underneath.
Not that I care.
I’ve never really had time for boys. Or men. I turned twenty-five last month, and I’ve really only
had one boyfriend in my life. That was in middle school and lasted for all of two weeks. After that,
anyone I took the slightest interest in became my stepsister’s newest target. She wasn’t shy, modest, or
concerned about minor details like personality. She just wanted to win, and poaching my potential
love interests was her favorite sport.
But whatever.
It saved me from a lot of heartache and gave me more time to be at her mother’s beck and call,
like her own personal live-in servant. So, win-win, I guess.
And when this Cinderella reached the legal age to move out, I said farewell to dear old daddy and
my evil stepmother, only to discover that living on the streets wasn’t exactly a step up in the world.
But I’ve been climbing slowly. Thanks in no small part to a family friend who tracked me down
and gave me a hot meal and a roof over my head, then paid my bus fare to the city to meet his little
sister, Lia. And thanks to Lia for making space in her home and heart. And thanks especially to Kira
for being the one to say, fuck begging for work, let’s start our own business.
I’ve been too busy surviving to bother with petty things like second dates. Hell, I can count the
number of first dates I’ve had on one hand.
“Holy shit!” Lia’s squeal from the kitchen has us both bolting upright. “We got a new client!”
“What? Who? When?”
“They just emailed. Oh, weird, listen to this... My employer is requesting Miss Ally Mills for the
interview. No substitutions will be accepted.”
“What? Really?” That sounds a bit creepy.
“Yeah. It’s an address outside the city. Residential. Shit... it’s a full time, permanent gig.”
We all look at each other, then Kira and I both grab our phones and google the address as Lia
reads it out.
“Oh, wow,” Kira says, her voice a whisper.
“Oh, wow is right.”
This is exactly the type of house I pictured cleaning when I imagined being a maid. It’s a huge,
gated estate surrounded by forest, with a winding, paved driveway bordered by hedges. The gardens
look immaculate. The house is huge, far bigger than any house I’ve ever been in. There’s even a pool.
And a barn.
It’s freakin’ gorgeous. I can already smell the fresh, country air.
“Is this a prank?” Kira’s just as dumbfounded as I am.
“Human trafficking, more likely. It’s definitely bait,” I reply.
“Stop it, both of you!” Lia chastises us while she’s tapping out a reply with flying thumbs. “We do
good, honest work. And Ally is the one out there at most of the jobs, handing out the cards with her
name on them. It’s only natural that a client like this would request her directly.”
“That is true,” Kira agrees. “And you’ll nail the interview, make a ton of money, and have all their
rich friends calling Maids for You in the hope of scoring their own professional and efficient maids.
We’ll be so busy we’ll have to hire more hands!”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” The last thing I want is to get my hopes up, then have them
crushed on Monday when it all falls through. “A job like that... they probably want someone with
more experience. Someone older.” My age has lost me a couple of gigs in the past.
But even though my brain is telling me to be cautious, I can’t help but feel this could be the start of
something great.
Chapter 4
 Ally

“Good morning. Can I help you?”

I lean a little farther out of the Uber’s back window, the stone wall and looming metal gate
looking far more intimidating than it had on Google maps.
“Yes. Hi. It’s Ally Mills. I have an appointment with Mr. Velovaux?”
The little black box clicks and the gates retract almost soundlessly, despite their size. We roll
forward over smooth pavement and onto the winding driveway that takes us up a slight incline. I can’t
see much beyond the neatly manicured hedges on either side of us, but soon we turn a corner and the
house appears.
It’s huge, but the slanted roof and dark, log-cabin siding give it a welcoming, almost cozy feel.
Like a lodge or resort, maybe. Even though it’s the peak of summer right now, I can imagine being
snowed in here, with a roaring fire and hot cocoa after a long day of hiking or snowmobiling.
A little thrill of excitement hits me at the prospect of getting to know this house—its nooks and
crannies and hidden clutter. I bet it has some stories to tell.
The heavy-looking, black front door swings open, and an older man in a white dress shirt and
black slacks emerges. I scramble out of the car, smoothing my nicest pair of navy scrub pants and
matching T-shirt. Butterflies swirl in my stomach. I wish I had something nicer than scrubs to wear to
this interview.
“Can you wait for me?” I ask the driver, swiping my debit card for the amount I owe her so far.
“For sure.”
“Thank you so much.” Something about having a getaway car ready and waiting gives me a little
more confidence. The house might have made a great first impression, but I still haven’t ruled out
human trafficking as the reason I’m here.
“There’s no need to have your driver wait, Miss Mills.”
I turn to see the older man extend his hand in greeting, and when I take it, he gives mine a light
squeeze. His smile is warm and welcoming, his gray eyes crinkling at the edges.
“I’m Nolan Walters, Mr. Velovaux’s estate manager.”
I offer him a smile in return, hoping it’s not painfully obvious how nervous I am. “Hello, it’s good
to meet you. I’m Ally, co-owner of Maids for You.”
“Yes, I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance. Please, we can see to your ride
home if you’d like to excuse your driver.”
I nod, not exactly at ease with the thought of being stranded here, but also not wanting to offend
him by refusing his offer. But much like the house, Nolan feels safe and welcoming somehow. I turn
and give the driver a wave, and she replies with a thumbs up before raising the window and rolling
slowly forward.
“Please, follow me, Miss Mills.”
I tighten my grip on my purse strap and follow him through the wide, thick doors. Inside, as my
eyes adjust to the low light, I can’t stop the gasp of awe that escapes me. This place is beautiful.
The foyer has a cathedral ceiling supported by huge, rough logs. The walls between the beams are
painted dark to match the polished hardwood floor, some etched with elaborate tribal carvings, others
with paintings showing scenes of wilderness and wolves.
An eclectic assortment of sofas and chairs in a rainbow of colorful patterns are positioned around
four huge fireplaces, along with wide, plush cushions that look like oversized dog beds. At the other
end of the room, an entire wall of windows overlooks a glittering swimming pool, sprawling lawn,
and dark forest beyond. Even though the sun is shining brightly outside, none of the light filters
through the shaded glass.
“This is... immense.” There’s no better word to describe it. And I have no earthly clue how I’m
going to clean all of it on my own.
Nolan is smiling, looking around the same space, as if seeing it with fresh eyes. “It is, indeed. Mr.
Velovaux occasionally entertains his extended family and their canine companions. But it will set
your mind at ease to know we’re not hiring you to maintain this portion of the house.”
Thank goodness.
I nod, hoping I don’t look as relieved as I feel. I have no issues with climbing a ladder to get the
tricky spots, but this room needs a crane.
Nolan moves through the room, and I follow at his heels while taking in the artwork on the walls
as we go.
“On the occasions that guests are entertained, we hire a crew to come in and refresh this room, as
well as the guest quarters in the north wing. Mr. Velovaux values his privacy, so he prefers a more
intimate cleaning arrangement in his private quarters.”
At the far end of the room, Nolan takes a seat on a red sofa positioned with its back to the wall of
windows. He gestures for me to sit near him as he picks up a clipboard from a low, glass coffee
table. I perch on the edge of the sofa, still mesmerized by the space around me.
“Before we proceed, we’ll require you to sign this nondisclosure agreement.”
I take the clipboard and the pen he’s holding out, then flip through the pages. The agreement seems
pretty standard. I’ve signed these before with a couple of offices. The last section states clearly that I
can’t tell anyone what I see or hear during this interview, while employed by Mr. V, or after
termination of any contract we might sign.
“I’m happy to sign this, of course. And it’s none of my business if he’s got some questionable
hobbies, but I will tell you now, if there’s anything illegal or dangerous going on here, I won’t be able
to stay.”
I watch Nolan’s face, but his smile doesn’t falter. “Of course. Our employer is perhaps eccentric
at times, and fiercely private. You may in time become privy to details that, if made public
knowledge, could damage both his personal and professional reputation. This is a precaution to
ensure that leaking such information would be equally devastating to you and your associates.”
Woah. Now that felt more like a threat, even with Nolan’s smooth and proper way of speaking.
But it’s not like I’d risk my reputation as a trustworthy maid just to sell some juicy gossip to the press.
And if he’s poaching rhinos or running a cocaine smuggling operation, I’ll just walk away.
I sign the document and hand it back.
“Excellent. Let’s begin with a tour. If you feel like the position is to your liking, we can sit with a
hot beverage and discuss your compensation.”
“Sounds good, Nolan. Thank you.”
I follow him through a door that’s nearly invisible with the way it’s set into the wall, and I’m
relieved to see that Mr. V’s private living space looks a lot more human-sized.
We’re in a formal sitting area, which Nolan tells me is rarely used. Then he leads me through a
door on the opposite wall and down a wide hallway to stop in front of a bright, modest kitchen and
cozy dining room. The wall of windows isn’t shaded here, and natural light pours in. I can easily
picture myself settling into the curved window seat with a coffee, overlooking the huge in-ground
pool with its padded lounge chairs and copious potted plants around the edges.
“You’re welcome to use this room as you like,” Nolan says. “It’s stocked with quick, nutritious
options for lunches and snacks. The glass is one way, so you can have privacy while enjoying the
view. Any larger meals are prepared in the master kitchen of the guest wing by Sarah, Mr. Velovaux’s
chef, and delivered as requested. He typically takes his breakfast here, as well as an evening dinner
when he’s not kept away by work.”
I take a walk around the room. It’s clean, minimal, and will be a breeze to maintain.
“It’s spotless already. Can I ask why the current maid moved on?”
“Mr. Velovaux is a tidy person by nature. I maintain his quarters as needed daily, and a
professional comes on Fridays to deep clean. He hasn’t been pleased with the arrangement for some
time, but he hadn’t yet found a good match for a full-time position.”
And how does he know I’m a good match?
I don’t ask that. Because a wealthy employer with a gorgeous home who knows how to clean up
after himself? I’m thinking even poaching and cocaine wouldn’t be enough to make me walk away
from this.
I can’t let my crush on this house cloud my judgment. There’s still plenty to see that could change
my mind.
But the rest of the tour turns out to be equally encouraging. There’s a comfortable media room
with theater seating and every game console imaginable. A gym with so much equipment, I can’t
exactly call it a home gym. There’s an office—or maybe it’s a library—with floor-to-ceiling
bookshelves and a tidy desk in the center. A huge bathroom, two guest bedrooms with ensuites, and
the master bedroom with a four-poster bed and stone fireplace. The laundry room is as modern and
clean as the kitchen, and there’s a sunroom that looks made for napping on lazy Sunday afternoons.
Overall, the whole place is tidy and organized. No signs of children or pets, and nothing to indicate a
wife or girlfriend.
The square footage alone would make it a big job, but full-time Monday to Friday will be a
breeze. I almost feel guilty charging him full price, but as Nolan and I sit down at the dining room
table with two steaming mugs—coffee for me, tea for him—I suck in a breath and stick to my pricing
plan.
“This is a beautiful home, and unless you did some heavy cleaning over the weekend, I’m
impressed with how well maintained it is. In my experience, that’s a rare thing.”
Nolan smiles, and I’m pretty sure I see a hint of familial pride in the expression. “The weekly
cleaners were here on Friday. Our employer is not what you’d call high-maintenance, though he does
like his personal space strictly maintained.”
I nod while I casually look around, attempting to sip my coffee without burning my lips, hoping I
look like I’m considering the workload. In reality, I’m giddy with the mere prospect of spending my
days pretending like I live in this little slice of paradise.
 “I’m happy to take on the work. To keep this much square footage maintained the way you’re
implying, I have no doubt I’ll be able to fill a full-time schedule. Our standard rate is twenty-five
dollars per hour, and because you’re so far outside the city, I’ll ask for an additional hour each day
for travel.” I take a breath, then look at Nolan to decipher his reaction. He doesn’t look phased by my
statements. “I bring my own supplies, so there are no hidden fees there.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
He lifts his tea, dunking the bag a few times before taking a sip. I pick up my coffee and attempt to
drink again, but it’s still too hot.
“May I offer a counter?” Nolan says.
I nod, wondering how low he’ll try to go, or how low I’d be willing to accept for a workplace
like this. I suppose it’s to be expected he might not want to pay the extra for transportation.
“Mr. Velovaux has instructed me to offer you fifteen hundred dollars per week to be at his
disposal from eight a.m. sharp until four p.m., Monday to Friday. He expects the cleaning won’t take
that much time each day, so he’s asked that you feel comfortable enjoying the leisure activities
available on his estate.”
Holy shit. Am I hearing this right?
“You’re welcome to eat what you like from this kitchen, and Sarah can prepare any additional
meals you desire. Transportation is included, as are all supplies you need. Simply make a list of your
preferred tools, and they will be at the ready. Mr. Velovaux would ask that you report to work on most
holidays, if possible, and limit your days off in general. However, for any such days, you can simply
inform me you’ll be absent. He’s amenable to two paid days off per month.”
Human trafficking. That’s got to be what this is. Something illegal and morally reprehensible.
There’s got to be something wrong here.
I take a deep breath. “What’s the catch? That offer is... a lot beyond generous.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I assure you, Miss Mills, there is no catch.”
I’m just going to be real with him because this is too surreal already. “I’m serious, Nolan. You
know as well as I do this is a ridiculous offer. No one in their right mind would turn it down. But I
don’t think I can turn a blind eye if Mr. Velovaux is doing something illegal, or if someone’s getting
hurt. And I’m not a prostitute.”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “I can assure you, on my honor, that neither Mr. Velovaux nor
anyone who resides or works on his property is breaking any major laws. Nor do they have any
untoward intentions for your purpose here. If anyone were to offend you in such a way, they would be
dealt with swiftly. Our employer is simply very generous with his personal staff, and he expects an
equal measure of loyalty in return.”
I look past him, out the window at the glistening pool and dark tree line bordering the lawn. “Who
else lives here?”
“Mr. Velovaux lives alone. He does not currently have a partner or heirs. On the floor above this
one, I have my own private quarters. As do Sarah and her husband, David, who tends to the gardens.”
“Are there often guests?”
“Mr. Velovaux often entertains on the weekends, and occasionally his extended family will visit.
They keep to the grand foyer and the guest wing exclusively. You’ll have no obligations to them.”
I pick up my coffee mug, taking a good sip and trying to look thoughtful rather than begging for
something to sign to make this official, no take-backs.
“I should add that Mr. Velovaux instructed me to offer your choice of the two guest suites, should
you ever wish to stay. It will be your personal, undisturbed space for as long as you’re employed
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 German,
Russian, etc.
S p e c i a l n o t e s : The man
poses as a gentleman of great
distinction. Adopts a new role
every other day. Wears an
eyeglass. Always accompanied by
a young man—name unknown.
Charged with robbery.
A reward of 1000 pounds sterling
will be paid for the arrest of this
man.
Headquarters—Scotland Yard.
L o n d o n , 1st October 1908.
Police Inspector,
H o r n y.
[Inhoud]
Roman-Boekhandel voorheen A. Eichler
Fransch,
Duitsch,
Russisch enz.
enz.
Bijzondere kenteekenen:
Het optreden van den man
kenmerkt zich door bijzonder
goede manieren. Telkens een
ander uiterlijk. Draagt een
monocle. Is in gezelschap van een
jongeman, wiens naam onbekend.
Moet worden aangehouden als
dief. Voor zijn aanhouding betalen
wij een prijs van 1000 pond
sterling.
Het Hoofdbureau van Politie
Scotland-Yard.
L o n d e n , 1. Oktober 1908.
Inspecteur van Politie
(get.) H o r n y .
Singel 236—Amsterdam.
 Inhoudsopgave

I. EEN OUDE KENNIS. 1

II. EEN SCHURKACHTIG VOORSTEL. 5
III. HET VULKAAN-EILAND. 9
IV. RAFFLES WORDT PROCURATIEHOUDER. 15
V. HET VERRAAD. 19
VI. BEDROGEN. 24
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Metadata

Titel: Lord Lister No.

25: De
bankdirecteur
Auteur: Theo von Info
Blankensee https://viaf.org/viaf/8133268/
[Pseudoniem van
Mathias Blank
(1881–1928)]
Auteur: Kurt Matull Info
(1872–1930?) https://viaf.org/viaf/56770919/
Aanmaakdatum 2023-09-14
bestand: 19:29:47 UTC
Taal: Nederlands
(Spelling De
Vries-Te Winkel)
Oorspronkelijke [1911]
uitgiftedatum:
Trefwoorden: Detective and
mystery stories --
 Periodicals
Dime novels --
Periodicals

Codering

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Theater Theater 1
Passim. [Niet in
bron] „ 1
2 [Niet in
bron] „„ 2
3, 3, 33 [Niet in
bron] . 1
5, 8, 10,
21, 21, Mac
27 Intosh McIntosh 2
Passim. Mc. Intosh McIntosh 2
5 antwoorde antwoordde 1
5 ”, ,” 2
Passim. mr. Mr. 1
6 Garrick Garrick-
theater theater 1
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17, 27 Mc Intosh McIntosh 1
13 intuitie intuïtie 1/0
14 ” „ 2
18, 19, Lincoln Lincoln-
25 Bank Bank 1
18 [Niet in
bron] ” 1
19 Schotland Scotland 1
20 milioenen millioenen 1
21, 21,
21, 21,
21, 22 Intosh McIntosh 2
22 mijn mij 1
24 Lincoln- Lincoln-
bank Bank 1
26 leefd beleefd 2
27 alleen zat zat alleen 8
27 hingt hing 1
27 ” [Verwijderd] 1
30 Jack Jacq 1
31 [Niet in
bron] en 3
31 knarstte knarste 1
33 Sinclair Raffles 7
33 Inspekteur Inspecteur 1
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