Chapter 6
The next morning, we pulled up to the Midtown penthouse building at 9:17 a.m.
My heart was hammering so hard I could hear it over the car engine.
Brandon’s court hearing had started seventeen minutes earlier.
We had less than three hours.
Lila swiped her key fob at the front desk.
The security guard didn’t even look up.
We took the private elevator up to the forty-second floor.
The whole ride up, no one spoke.
When the elevator doors opened, Lila stepped out first, key in hand.
She unlocked the front door and pushed it open.
The penthouse was exactly how I’d imagined it.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park.
White marble floors.
Expensive art on the walls—art I’d paid for, on the credit card I’d canceled.
A sick feeling twisted in my stomach.
This was the life Brandon had been living while I’d been working eighty-hour weeks to pay for it.
While I’d been crying myself to sleep at night, wondering why he never came home.
“Quickly,” Grace whispered. “Lila, show us the safe.”
Lila led us down the hall to the master bedroom.
The closet was bigger than my first apartment.
Rows of custom suits.
Designer shoes.
And in the very back, behind a stack of shoeboxes, a small black safe built into the wall.
Lila knelt down and spun the dial.
Birthday backwards.
Four clicks.
The safe door swung open.
Inside, stacks of cash.
More jewelry—pieces I’d thought Margaret had lost years ago.
And a thick leather binder, exactly like Lila had described.
I grabbed it.
Flipped it open.
Page after page of signed transfer forms.
Offshore account numbers.
Handwritten notes in Margaret’s scratchy handwriting, calculating exactly how much they needed to steal to cover their tracks.
Handwritten notes in Brandon’s neat script, mapping out exactly how they’d frame me.
Step one: Plant evidence on laptop.
Step two: Call police, report breakdown.
Step three: Olivia arrested, firm blames her, case closed.
Step four: Retire to Caymans by Christmas.
I felt sick.
“This is it,” I said, my voice shaking. “This is everything we need.”
“Let’s go,” Mia said, looking nervously at the door. “We have what we came for.”
We turned to leave.
And then we heard it.
The front door unlocking.
Keys jangling.
A woman’s laugh.
Margaret’s laugh.
My blood turned to ice.
They were supposed to be in court.
What were they doing here?
“Quick,” Grace whispered. “In here.”
She pulled us into the huge walk-in closet, pulling the door almost closed behind us, leaving just a tiny crack to see through.
We held our breath.
Footsteps down the hall.
Brandon’s voice.
“…stupid judge delayed the hearing until tomorrow. Waste of a morning. But at least we have time to move the money today. I called the bank in the Caymans. They’re ready to transfer the full six million to the new account in Switzerland at noon. Once it’s there, no one will ever find it. We can be on a plane by tonight.”
Margaret laughed again.
“Thank God,” she said. “I’m so sick of this city. Sick of Olivia and her stupid little lawyer and that traitor Lila. Once we’re in Switzerland, we’ll never have to think about any of them again. You did good, baby. Almost got away with the whole thing.”
I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug into my palms.
Almost.
They thought they’d already won.
“Where’s the binder?” Brandon asked. “I need to double-check the account numbers before I call.”
“In the safe,” Margaret said. “Where it always is. Relax, Brandon. No one knows about it. No one’s been here. We’re fine.”
We heard Brandon’s footsteps coming toward the closet.
Closer.
Closer.
Lila squeezed my hand so tight I thought she might break my fingers.
Mia tensed beside me, ready to fight.
Grace pulled out her phone, already dialing 911 under her coat.
Brandon pushed the closet door all the way open.
He froze when he saw us.
For a split second, no one moved.
Then his face twisted with rage.
“You,” he snarled, looking right at me. “How the hell did you get in here?”
“Lila is on the lease,” I said, holding up the binder. “We had every right to be here. And we have everything we need, Brandon. Every account number. Every note. Every step of your little plan. It’s over.”
He lunged for the binder.
Mia stepped between us, shoving him back hard.
He stumbled, tripping over a stack of shoeboxes, and fell hard on his ass on the marble floor.
Margaret screamed from the doorway.
“Get out of my house!” she shrieked. “You’re all trespassing! I’m calling the police!”
“Too late,” Grace said, holding up her phone. “They’re already on their way. And when they get here? We’re handing over this binder. And the recordings Lila made. And every other piece of evidence we have. You two aren’t going to Switzerland. You’re going to jail. For a very long time.”
Brandon stood up, face purple with rage.
He looked at Lila.
“You little traitor,” he spat. “I gave you everything. I gave you a job, a home, money for your sister. And you throw it all away for her?”
Lila stepped forward, her voice shaking but strong.
“You never gave me anything,” she said. “You threatened me. You used me. You made me hate myself for a year and a half. I’m done being scared of you. I’m done letting you hurt people.”
The wail of sirens drifted up from the street.
Getting closer.
Brandon’s face fell.
He knew it was over.
Margaret started crying, screaming that we’d set them up, that none of it was real.
No one was listening.
When the police burst through the front door five minutes later, Grace handed them the binder.
She told them everything.
The officers cuffed Brandon and Margaret right there in the closet, reading them their rights for the second time in as many weeks.
As they led Brandon out, he turned back to me.
“This isn’t over,” he yelled. “I’ll get out. And when I do? I’ll make you regret the day you were born.”
I didn’t flinch.
May you like
I just looked him dead in the eye.
“No,” I said. “You won’t. Because this time? You’re never getting out.”
