Chapter 3

Saturday evening, I was asleep at home.

A shrill ringtone jolted me awake. It was Jessica.

"Emma, why aren't you here yet?"

The glee in her voice nearly pierced my eardrum. I had to hold the phone farther away.

"I told you, that estate isn't mine. I have no right to—"

Two sharp barks came through the phone.

The barking jolted me. That was Bella, Richard's dog.

"Jessica, where are you?" I demanded.

"At your estate, obviously. This dog is driving me crazy. Is there any rope in the yard? I'm going to tie her up."

Before she'd even finished, Bella's yelp of pain came through the line.

Nothing else mattered. I rushed out the door and grabbed a cab to the estate.

On the way, I opened the estate's security feed and discovered they had forced the lock and let themselves in.

Jessica had already posted a nine-photo album on Facebook, posing in a pretty dress all over the estate.

My heart skipped. Unless I was mistaken, she was holding the Romanée-Conti from the cellar, worth more than $10,000 a bottle.

The likes and comments below were endless. Someone asked where she was.

She said, "A friend's been inviting me forever. I couldn't keep turning her down. Finally had a free day, so here I am."

"Gotta say, this wine's not bad."

Someone gushed, "Jessica's gone high society!"

Someone gushed, "Please. Jessica has always belonged at the top."

My palms went numb. I quickly messaged Richard. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hale. People have broken into your house."

After a long pause, a single question mark appeared.

I laid out the whole story. Richard was away on business. When I finished, he left just one line: "Protect Bella. I'm heading back now."

At the estate's gate, I froze.

The elegant dark gate had been forced apart, leaving a jagged opening around the ruined lock.

Inside, the sprawling lawn was pitted and torn, sod ripped up in patches.

I shouted Bella's name. A whimper came from a tree in the corner of the grounds.

Someone had tied Bella to a low tree branch with a belt.

Tears ran down my face as I struggled to get her free.

Bella burrowed into my arms, shaking.

Burning with rage, I carried her to the dining room, where Jessica was confirming the catering menu.

"Serve the eleven pounds of bluefin tuna as sashimi. Open one 24-karat gold tin of Almas caviar. Bring out the largest Italian white truffle and shave it fresh at the table. The A5 wagyu is by head count, seven ounces per person. And use Iranian saffron for dessert, the kind sold by the gram."

Seeing me walk in with the dog, she scowled. "Why is that beast inside again?"

Before I could confront her, she grabbed me, dragged me over, and forced me into a chair.

"What is wrong with you? You didn't open the door, clean the house, or tie up the dog. The rooms don't even have hot water."

"Is this how you treat guests?"

Linda was just as annoyed. "You were supposed to pick me up. The cab for my whole family wasn't cheap. You're reimbursing us later."

"We've been here for hours, and the hostess is only just arriving. Look at the intern acting like she's the boss."

I stared them down. "You broke into a private home. That's a crime!"

Jessica burst out laughing as if I'd told the joke of the year. "Oh, Emma, you're hilarious. We're your friends. Your husband will just make you cover it."

I paused.

So that was how she saw it.

She thought I was a rich wife with no standing, living at my husband's mercy, so no matter how badly I got burned today, I'd have to swallow it and eat the loss myself.

But what if I wasn't?

She looked at me and blew a mouthful of smoke my way; the cigar's harshness set her hacking.

I recognized it instantly: the Cohiba from Richard's study.

Linda called over, "Emma, we grabbed a few bottles from the cellar. One of the kids dropped one. Don't be upset, okay?"

The basement cellar door had been pried open too. At a glance, more than a dozen bottles were already gone.

A bottle of Romanée-Conti worth more than $10,000 had shattered on a $50,000 handwoven rug. I couldn't decide which loss hurt more.

Charles waved her off. "She's just an intern. Why would she care? Our showing up at her house should be honor enough."

He was clearly still angry that I'd embarrassed him by quitting.

Linda's apology wasn't sincere either. "Emma, clean that up quick before someone gets cut."

Then she walked away to take pictures of the catering spread.

After eating and drinking their fill, everyone looked delighted with themselves.

Between burps, they said, "Emma, great party. Next one's at your place too!"

Two half-drunk men poured the leftover wine into the antique vase in the living room, then knocked it over and shattered it. If I remembered right, that vase was Ming dynasty porcelain Richard had won at an auction.

A few seven- and eight-year-olds were drawing scary faces on the plates with their markers.

I leaned in for a look. Those were the Hermès plates Richard had bought the week before, still unused.

Besides the fresh wine stains, the rug had somehow acquired several large cigar burns.

I held Bella and watched it all, my heart in my throat.

The server brought over the bill.

Jessica patted my shoulder. "Emma, settle the bill. It's late, we're heading home."

Everyone rose, laughing, ready to leave.

Just then, a motorcycle engine thundered outside.

The roar cut through the noise inside the estate like a blade.

The laughter stopped.

Linda lowered her voice, a faint tremor of fear running through it. "Oh my God, what is happening?"

A bald man close to six foot six stepped in against the light, shoulders nearly as wide as the doorway. His black racing suit was caked in mud, fresh scrapes across the knee and elbow pads, his arms thicker than my thighs.

A child pointed at him and instantly burst into tears. "Monster! It's a monster!"

Nobody spoke. It was as if the air had been sucked from the room.

Relief loosened the knot in my chest.

Richard was finally home.