Chapter 454: Denise Carver Stood over Helen Whitmore in Her Stilettos

Denise Carver stood over Helen Whitmore in her stilettos, looking down with disdain.

She glanced around the room with visible disgust, running a finger along the coffee table before recoiling dramatically. "Ugh, there's enough dust here to write in."

Helen's knuckles turned white as she clenched the cleaning rag.

She'd wiped that table clean just this morning.

The elderly aunt's grandson was scattering snack crumbs everywhere, but Denise pretended not to notice.

"Darling sister-in-law," Denise drawled, "With Mother's grand birthday tomorrow, do you really want our guests thinking the Whitmores live in squalor?"

She suddenly grabbed a towel from the couch, pinching her nose. "This smells moldy! Why haven't you thrown it out?"

"Put that down!" The elderly aunt rushed over to snatch back her face towel.

Denise's expression froze.

Howard Carver discreetly tugged her sleeve.

"Don't touch me!" She shook off her husband and turned back to Helen with a sneer. "I'm trying to help you. Tomorrow's guests are all distinguished people. Any embarrassment reflects on the entire Whitmore family."

Helen suddenly smiled.

"You're absolutely right, Denise." She slowly peeled off her rubber gloves. "Since you're so concerned about cleanliness, why don't you mop the floor for me?"

She moved toward the mop.

Denise's face paled. "Oh! I just remembered—Mother asked me to finalize the menu!"

She dragged Howard out in a hasty retreat.

* * *

The birthday banquet finally ended.

Daniel and Helen sighed in relief after seeing off the last guests.

But when they returned home, the living room lights blazed brightly.

The elderly aunt's family lounged on the sofa watching TV.

"A-Aunt?" Daniel stammered. "The village shuttle—"

"Ruth insisted we stay longer." The aunt cracked melon seeds, letting shells rain onto the carpet. "How could we refuse such hospitality?"

Helen's vision darkened.

* * *

Clara Whitmore had just stepped inside when Maya Torres' urgent message arrived.

Ignoring the noisy living room, she hurried upstairs.

Her experiment data had errors, but thankfully she'd brought backup files.

Then she froze in the doorway, blood turning to ice.

Her desk had been ransacked.

The laptop sat askew.

And worst of all—

The locked drawer containing her research data stood empty.