His face hardened at the news, and a glint of irritation flashed in his eyes.
“Make sure you wear something revealing for the charity auction tonight,” he instructed. “Mark will be there, and you want to make a good impression on him, don’t you?”
She felt a wave of revulsion wash over her, both at the instruction to wear a revealing dress, and at the mention of Mark, herfiancé, but managed to nod in agreement.
Her father’s bodyguard arrived a moment later, and that was her signal to leave. Mia forced a smile and said her goodbyes, making a show of heading to her room. But once she was out of sight, she paused and pressed her back against the cool wall outside her father’s office. She listened, hoping to hear something useful. Her breath hitched as she overheard her father telling his bodyguard about a quick meeting he had to attend before the auction.
Mia’s heart kicked up a notch, adrenaline coursing through her veins. This could be her chance—a golden opportunity to obtain the irrefutable evidence needed to bring her father down. With renewed determination, Mia pulled herself away from the wall and hurried to her room. She had a mission to execute, and time was of the essence.
In the solitude of her room, Mia was perched by the window, her eyes trained on the winding driveway that led away from the mansion. The sun was gradually sinking, casting long, ominous shadows that danced with the rustling leaves of the surrounding trees. The anticipation gnawed at her nerves, sending little tremors of anxiety through her. The minutes ticked by at a torturous pace, until finally, the gleaming black car of her father slid into view, disappearing down the driveway then out through the gate. A rush of adrenaline surged within her.
The silence of the mansion felt as loud as a death knell. Mia padded barefoot down the grand staircase, the cool marble underfoot grounding her. She clutched her cell phone in her hand and its cold, metallic weight provided her with some semblance of security. Her heartbeat like a drum against her ribs, each beat echoing her growing anxiety.
Her first stop was the staff wing, and the familiar smell of starched uniforms and lingering kitchen scents served as a poignant reminder of the pseudo-normalcy she was living. Her eyes scanned the lounge, finding her bodyguards engrossed in a boisterous ball game on the television, their attention thankfully diverted from her.
Seizing her opportunity, Mia retraced her steps back to the main house, her movements as swift and silent as a breeze. The mansion was eerily quiet—more so than usual, the stillness amplifying her nervousness.
Her rate of her heartbeat kicked up a notch as she approached her father’s office. She extended a trembling hand to the doorknob and turned, but it resisted—the door was locked. The realization sent a cold shiver of dread slithering down her spine, but also fueled her resolve.With a renewed sense of determination, Mia quickly adjusted her course. Her feet tookher to the control room, a space buzzing with technology that oversaw every nook and cranny of the mansion. The flickering screens illuminated the room in an eerie glow, each monitor a voyeuristic window into the lives of those who dwelt within the mansion’s walls.
Tucked away in a corner of the room was the innocuous, gray metal box—the keeper of the mansion’s secrets, its spare keys. She remembered the day she’d discovered the code, after a careless oversight by her father. Until that day she had been convinced that her plan to help the FBI wouldn’t yield any results, but then she’d found the code to the key box which gave her twenty-four-hour access to her father’s office and to the garage and cars should she need to make a speedy getaway from the house.
Her fingers danced over the keypad, entering the sequence of numbers she had committed to memory. The box beeped its compliance, the small sound echoing like a thunderclap in the silent room. The box creaked open, revealing a neatly arranged array of keys.
Without wasting a moment, she seized the one she needed. The key’s cold metal was a tangible testament to the path she was treading on. The sense of urgency wasn’t lost on her. At any moment her father could change his plans and head straight back to the mansion. While she was in the control room, she switched off the cameras so they wouldn’t capture her entering her father’s office. She feared they’d seen too much already, but there was nothing that could be done about that now. She had to focus on the task at hand. Mia’s heartbeat throbbed in her ears, a rhythmic accompaniment to her hurried steps as she rushed back to the locked room.
The mansion’s luxurious decor blurred around her, but Mia’ssingular focus was on the locked door. With every passing second, the stakes were escalating, and so was her resolve. The finish line was in sight, and she wasn’t about to back down now, even though she was terrified of what might happen if she got caught.
Mia slipped into her father’s office, her breath hitching as the door clicked shut behind her. The smell of leather and the pungent aroma of cigar smoke clung heavily to the room, a testament to her father’s frequent and long hours spent within its confines.
She swiftly started rifling through the documents strewn across the desk, her hands shaking. The computer taunted her from its perch, its screen locked behind a password she couldn’t guess. She gnawed on her lower lip, her stomach knotting with the ticking seconds.
In her growing desperation, she turned her attention to the drawers under his desk. They were usually locked, but when the first one she tried opened straight away, she realized her father had forgotten to lock them. Finally, some luck. There was nothing of any use in the top two drawers. Then, as she pulled open the third drawer and started rifling through the paperwork, a set of documents caught her eye. Files marked with the emblem of the cartel—a snarling jaguar head.
She skimmed through the content, her heart somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. It was a detailed ledger, documenting transactions between her father and the cartel—funds, arms shipments, even names of inside operatives. It was the smoking gun the FBI needed. She couldn’t understand why her father would have kept such detailed records, but she didn’t care. She had what she needed.
A wave of elation washed over her—the taste of victory wassweet on her tongue. Finally, she held the key to her cage. She quickly stashed the documents in her clothes, her hands trembling with adrenaline.
She hastily replaced the remaining files, making sure everything appeared undisturbed. Sweat dripped from her forehead as she fled the room. She locked the door behind her, and the metallic click resounded like the toll of a victory bell.
Back in the control room, she returned the key, her fingers dancing over the buttons to restore the box to its secure state. Then, she switched the cameras back on and prayed that no one thought to look at them where they would notice the missing time. Mia couldn’t help but let a small triumphant smile grace her lips. She had the evidence. Now she just had to deliver it to the FBI and somehow evade her father’s notice. But the danger was far from over, and Mia was all too aware of the ticking time bomb she held in her hands.
Chapter Thirteen
Max
The grand concert hall where the charity event was taking place was an opulent masterpiece of architecture, complete with vaulted ceilings and gold trimmings. As Max stepped inside, adorned in crisp black tuxedo, his senses were immediately assaulted by a medley of sounds, sights, and smells. The murmur of conversation, the tinkle of laughter, and the clink of fine crystal filled the air. Flickering chandeliers bathed the hall in a soft, warm light, casting an inviting glow on the ornate details of the walls. The aroma of gourmet appetizers and expensive perfume wafted over him, a potent reminder of the elite crowd he was navigating.
His superior had managed to get him an invite, but he felt like a stranger in a sea of gowns and tuxedos. He was physically and mentally worn out from the previous night’s futile interrogation of the Mexican shifters. Their obstinate silence had only added to his frustration and guilt. As much as he hated to admit it, trying and failing to extract information from them had taken a toll on him.
The trivial chatter around him was like white noise as he moved through the crowd.
“The stocks have gone up...,” a man in a tuxedo that looked like Max’s but undoubtedly cost ten times more, was saying to another, before he raised the glass of champagne to his lips.
“Oh, you must see our new yacht, it’s simply divine,” a woman in an extravagant sequined dress was gushing to a group of ladies, all of them glittering like diamonds.
Each conversation seemed so mundane, and so far removedfrom the harsh reality of Max’s world. He had hoped that he might overhear a glimmer of conversation from people in Ethan’s line of work, but no such luck.
And then, he saw her. Mia.
