Chapter 3 - The Scent of Poisoned Honey
Inside the Beverly Hills mansion, the silence was suffocating.
Lily Mercer pressed her back harder against the cedar paneling of the closet, her small hands clamping over her mouth to muffle the sound of her own shallow breathing. The scent of her father's smoke-and-cedar cologne was the only thing keeping her from screaming.
Outside the bedroom door, the soft, patient footsteps continued.
Click. Click. Click.
Cassandra Vale’s expensive high heels tapped against the marble floor of the hallway. "Lily? Darling, I know you’re in there. Your door is locked from the inside, sweetheart. That’s very dangerous. What if there’s a fire?"
Lily didn't move. She remembered her father’s voice: Do not open it for anyone. Do not answer if they call your name.
"Mr. Wells is here, Lily," Cassandra’s voice grew slightly closer, now pressing against the thick oak of the bedroom door. "He brought you some of those strawberry yogurts you like so much. The ones with the little chocolate dinosaurs. Come out and have a snack with us."
From down the hallway, a man’s voice called out—low, hurried, and dripping with nervous sweat. "Cassandra, we don't have time for this. The transport van from the border just passed the security gate at the bottom of the hill. They want the package loaded before the morning patrol rotates."
Wells.
He was the chief financial officer of Mercer International, a man Marcus had pulled out of a gambling debt ten years ago and elevated to a multi-million-dollar salary.
"She’s in the room, Thomas," Cassandra snapped, her sweet tone vanishing instantly, replaced by a sharp, venomous hiss. "The girl stole the spare phone from the study. I saw the charger dock was empty. If she called Marcus—"
"If she called him, what is he going to do?" Wells spat, his boots clattering on the marble as he walked up to the door. "Marcus is nine thousand miles away in London, chained to a federal investigation. He can't get a flight out of Heathrow without the FBI checking his bags. By the time he realizes what happened, the audit will be closed, the forty-five million will be in the Swiss accounts, and the girl will be across the southern border under a different name. Now break the lock."
"No," Cassandra said, her voice turning cold and calculated. "Don't break it. If the neighbors hear a struggle, it complicates the transition. Use the master key from the kitchen cabinet."
Lily heard the sound of footsteps fading down the stairs.
She looked down at the stolen phone in her hands. The screen showed only one percent battery left. With shaking fingers, she typed a quick text message to her father’s number:
May you like
They have the key. I love you, Daddy.
The phone screen flickered once, then went completely black.
