Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“Yes, ma’am,” she says, running to keep up with me.
I go straight to Evie’s dressing room. It’s more of a hall than a room. Seeing that Evie needed most of her clothes in double, the garments take up a lot of space. She never got rid of anything, not even from when she was fifteen and I was sixteen. She always said she was keeping the dresses for her daughter. There’s no way Evie could’ve moved all that stuff to Nathan’s apartment. He has a penthouse in Hyde Park. Those penthouses are fancy but designed as bachelor pads. Evie’s clothes alone would’ve taken up most of his floor space.
The housekeeper is already unzipping a bag and placing it on one of the benches. While she goes through the drawers, I take a few dresses and dump them on top of the bag.
“Get me a warm cup of tea,” I say. “It’s cold in here.”
“We switched off the central heating in this room, ma’am. If we’d known you’d be—”
“Never mind.” I wave a hand, inspecting the clothes in the winter section of the closet. “Now hurry up with that tea, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She scurries through the door, her sneakers squeaking on the marble tiles.
I count to ten, go to the door, and peer around the frame. The hallway is empty. My heart beats in my throat as I adjust the sling of my handbag over my shoulder and walk to the elevator. The steel doors reflect the deserted space behind me as I press the button. I tap my foot as I wait for the door to open.
Thanks to the intel Tom got, I know the Stone and Warren families are having a celebration lunch at their exclusive weekend house on the banks of the Vaal River. It’s still early enough for Evie to make the hour-long-drive back and have plenty of time to refresh before lunch.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, glancing over my shoulder.
Finally, the door slides open. I step inside and press the button for the underground level. Going there still gives me shivers, but I push the memories of the basement aside.
The cameras will record my presence. The recording feeds to a remote system. Bell will know I’ve been here, but by then, it will be too late.
At the door of the vault, I enter the code I memorized when Evie had used it. Bell is slack about regularly changing the codes. Like most other things, he’s too lazy to memorize numbers. He didn’t want a lock that requires a thumb print. He’s always been too scared someone would cut off his thumb to get access to the room.
When the door clicks open, I don’t waste time. I cross the floor, take the glass box with the diamond, and drop it. The glass breaks with a shattering sound. The big diamond rolls out, stopping on its long side next to my shoe. Retrieving it, I study it in the light. It’s the real deal. A zirconia has smoother and rounder edges, and it would’ve felt twice as heavy.
After dropping the diamond in my bag, I take out the lighter liquid and break the seal. Turning the bottle upside down, I leave a trail of liquid on the floor as I hurry back to the elevator.
By the time I get back to the dressing room, the tea is waiting on the vanity. I squirt lighter fluid randomly over the fancy garments, all the dresses I was made to wear, and grab the bag with the clothes. The housekeeper has folded everything neatly and packed it inside. Pulling a match, I light the hem of the white dress with the diamante detail. The fabric catches fire quickly. The silk shrivels up before passing the flame to the twin dress hanging next to it. I chuck the empty bottle into the closet and take out the second one, repeating the whole ritual on my way to the front door.
The housekeeper runs after me as I reach the entrance. “Mrs. Stone!”
I stop, holding my breath.
“I couldn’t find the green cashmere sweater.” She catches up with me. “Didn’t you take it with you? I thought I’d packed it.”
“Maybe you did.” I continue to the door. “I’ll have another look.”
“What’s that smell?” She scrunches up her nose. “It smells like gasoline.”
I open the door. “It does. Did you mess something?”
She frowns. “No.” Studying the floor, her frown deepens. “It’s wet. Somebody spilled something.”
“You better clean it before my parents come home.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll go get a mop.”
When she’s gone, I turn in the door. I don’t look at the house with its expensive carpets and antique furniture. I don’t need to. There are no good memories for me here. I light another match and drop it with the packet on the floor before shutting the door behind me.