Chapter 4 - The House of CardsBack at the estate, the illusion was shattering.
At eight o’clock, Beverly knocked on the locked guest room door with a tray of lukewarm tea and toast. When there was no answer, she rattled the knob impatiently.
“Elena, stop this childishness,” she snapped.
When the silence stretched too long, Beverly used her spare key—the one Grant kept hidden behind the basement fuse box. The door swung open to an empty, perfectly made bed. The closet contained only a few empty hangers and a discarded pair of slippers.
Ten minutes later, Grant was pounding on his office door, shouting my name. He checked his phone for the tracking app he had installed on my device six months ago. The blue dot was stationary, glowing brightly from the center of the master bedroom mattress.
He rushed upstairs, tearing the duvet away. My phone lay face down on the sheets, powered off, resting directly on top of the GPS tile he had sewn into the lining of my spare coat.
“She’s gone,” Grant whispered, his face draining of color.
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His phone buzzed violently against his palm. It wasn't me. It was the Senior Partner at his law firm, asking if Grant had seen the emergency filing dropped on the firm’s digital portal twenty minutes ago. BrightSteps Network had officially severed all institutional contracts with Grant’s firm, citing conflict of interest and corporate intimidation.
And sitting right beneath that notification was an email from the National Community Impact Council, confirming that Elena Vance would indeed be keynote speaker and recipient of the evening's highest honor—with or without her spouse.
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