Jane’s employers planned a lavish holiday and included her to care for their children. They assured her that all expenses were covered, but upon returning home, they demanded Jane repay the cost of her plane tickets. However, Jane wasn’t going to back down easily.
“Jane, can you come into the living room?” Mrs.
Smith called, her teaspoon clinking as she stirred her tea.
I was tidying up the playroom. “Now, please,” she added.
Something felt off. I walked into the living room, trying to stay calm.
“Sure, Mrs. Smith. What’s up?” I replied, wiping disinfectant on my jeans.
She sat on the couch, perfectly poised. Mr. Smith, with his phone in hand, gave me a tight smile.
“Jane, we need to talk about the vacation.”
I nodded, curious.
We had been home for two days from our trip to a seaside resort. Despite the luxurious setting, I had the Smiths’ three children and the Johnsons’ two sons to care for.
“Of course,” I said. “It was a lovely trip.
Thank you again for inviting me.”
“Yes, well,” Mrs. Smith started. “We need to discuss the plane tickets.
When will you be able to return the $1000?”
I blinked, sure I misheard her. “Sorry, $1000? For the tickets?
What?”
“Yes, Jane,” she spoke slowly, as if I was stupid. “We thought you’d be grateful enough to pay us back.”
My heart raced. I didn’t have that kind of money.
“But you told me everything was sorted. You said, ‘Don’t worry about it, Jane. We’ve got it all covered.’”
Mrs.
Smith’s expression hardened. Mr. Smith gazed at me.
“That was before the Johnsons refused a business deal. We needed to woo them. So, there’s no need to seem generous now, Jane.
You have one week to return the money, or it will be taken from your pay.”
I was stunned. “But I can’t afford that, Mrs. Smith.
Most of my salary goes to my rent and my mother’s medication. And you didn’t mention paying you back!”
“That’s not our problem, Jane. One week,” Mr.
Smith reiterated, signaling the end of the discussion.
That night, in my tiny room near the Smiths’ house, I seethed. How could they do this? I needed a plan.
Then it hit me: the Smiths cared deeply about their social standing and reputation.
“Of course, that’s all they care about,” I muttered, brushing my teeth before bed. “But I can use that to my advantage.”
The next day, after dropping the kids off at school, I created a fake email account and drafted a detailed message about my experience, ensuring enough clues pointed to the Smiths. I sent it to their social circle, including influential families they wanted to impress.
“I just don’t understand what they want from us,” I overheard Mrs.
Smith say later that day. “Eva asked if everything is true, but I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Gossip spread quickly. The Smiths’ reputation took a hit as their mistreatment of staff became the talk of the town.
Mrs. Smith called in a masseuse to soothe her stress.
“Just let them into the spa when they arrive, Jane,” she said. “I need all the help I can get.”
Later, while picking the kids up from school, the other nannies were abuzz.
“Did you read the email about the Smiths?” one asked. “Jane, are they really like that?”
I nodded. “They’re good parents, but horrible people,” I said, not revealing I sent the email.
“How long will you work for them?” another asked.
“I couldn’t live under those circumstances. Rich people need to learn respect is earned.”
I smiled. Through the chatter, I discovered Mrs.
Smith’s habit of “borrowing” items without returning them.
“An entire Gucci handbag, Jane,” Mina said. “Mrs. Smith borrowed it for a gala two months ago.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I exclaimed.
“I didn’t know she was capable of that.”
A few days later, Mrs. Smith hosted a ladies’ luncheon. “I need this to go well, Jane,” she said.
“Walk around and talk to the women. Make us seem human.”
I knew she was desperate. At the luncheon, I casually mentioned Mrs.
Smith’s collection to Eva, Mina’s employer. “Mrs. Smith has a stunning Gucci handbag like yours.
Did she lend it to you?”
Eva’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so, Jane?”
Whispers circulated. By the end of the luncheon, Mrs.
Smith’s borrowing habits were the hot topic.
The next morning, her friends demanded their items back. Mrs. Smith was mortified.
During dinner, Mr.
Smith asked me to join them. “It has come to my attention an anonymous email went out,” he said, cutting into his steak. “A disgusting email,” Mrs.
Smith added, sipping her wine. “Did you have anything to do with it?”
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