In his will, Karl left their home to his daughter, Taylor, with the provision that Cara could live there rent free until she remarried. It was theoretically technically legal for Cara to enter—that was, if the hide-a-key still worked in the lock.
Seeing no one in the big, open central hallway, she crouched behind the large planter running the length of the living room windows and scurried across the terraced garden below. On the south side of the house, she kneeled on a paver and located the fake gray rock, almost identical to the real ones, that held their spare key.
Returning to the front door, she slid the key into the lock. It turned easily and the door opened with a satisfyingly familiar swoosh.
“Hello?” she called.
Her voice echoed across the open-concept first floor of her home, a beautiful, modern space with pale wood flooring, custom furniture, and abundant original art. Had it only been three and a half weeks since she’d been here?
She stepped over to the white-stone-planked, glass-enclosed, central staircase. “It’s Celia Campanozza with Canyon-to-Coast Properties. Taylor Campbell asked me to come by and take a look.”
A male voice came from the lower level, which had the plush home theater that convinced Karl to write an offer on the spot. “Mike from Handy Dandy down here. I’m about to pack it in for the day.”
“Doing some big renovations?” she asked, trying to sound like a friendly realtor, looking to price the place right.
“Just updating a glitch in the sound system,” he said.
It was more than a glitch. She’d had three different people try to fix it and the audio sounded like it was being amplified through water. Cara wondered if this guy had had any more luck than the others.
“I’ll be sure to lock up when I go,” she answered, already walking toward the family room, which opened up onto the kitchen and the outside living space.
Cara knew he would hear the click of her heels as she moved through the house, so she made a show of assessing the space, just like a realtor would. She stopped briefly in the kitchen and ran her hands along the black marble countertop, just to feel something familiar. She decided not to open the refrigerator to check on the oat milk and coconut rice pudding she’d picked up from Erewhon two days before the trial ended.
As soon as she heard the garage door open and close, she hurried upstairs.
She hadn’t entered Karl’s study since his death. She’d asked her cleaning crew to dust and vacuum, leaving everything else just as he’d left it—until one of his diplomas showed up on eBay. After that, she closed the door and cleaned the rest of the house herself.
Now, the door swung open silently. The room still smelled vaguely of Tom Ford cologne. The cracked, old-fashioned leather desk chair Karl loved seemed to be waiting for him, alongside the dusty architectural model of his surgical center—his unrealized dream.
Cara couldn’t let herself stop to feel his absence. Walking straight over to the Damien Hirst print behind his desk, she removed it from the wall and keyed in the combination to the wall safe hidden behind.
Inside was a large envelope with $10,000 in emergency cash, a set of keys on a ring with a lucky rabbit’s foot, and a sterling silver ID bracelet withKarlengraved on it—a tenth birthday giftfrom Aunt Evelyn. Cara placed all three items in the Marc Jacobs tote bag (cleverly emblazonedTHE TOTE BAG) she’d brought from Stephanie’s car.
Also in the safe was the black plastic case that contained the gun Karl insisted they keepjust in case.
Cara certainly had room inTHE TOTE BAG, but the gun still scared her almost as much as it had the day Karl brought it home. She may have been a fugitive, but she had no plans to go all #BonnieAndClyde, no matter what happened. Lifting the case, she removed the folder below it and left the gun alone.
Inside the folder were copies of the deed to the house, the title to a boat Karl had part-owned in Marina del Rey, their birth certificates and Social Security cards, and a handwritten promissory note for twelve million dollars. The lender was listed as Gioni Enterprises, LLC.
The borrower? Karl Campbell, MD, d/b/a Campbell Cosmetic.
Just as Dylan said.
Cara pulled her phone from the pocket of her L’Agence jacket and snapped a picture of the contract.
What happened, Karl?
She heard footsteps downstairs.
Stuffing the paperwork back into the folder and then into the safe, she quickly popped the art back onto the wall hook.
Cara started down the hallway, thinking she’d pop into the master bedroom. But when she looked over the railing, she stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs.
Taylor was looking up at her.
“What the actual fuck?” The first words her stepdaughter had spoken to her in nearly two years.
The last time they’d had an actual conversation, Taylor—who looked like a feminine, almost pretty version of her father, complete with the same strong chin and dark brown hair—hadtold Cara she had a serious boyfriend. Now she wore a large sparkler on her left hand.
