“You’re still awake?” he whispered.
“Just about.”
“Best day of my life.”
I stared into the darkness.
“Mine too,” I replied.
He kissed me again.
Within minutes, his breathing became slow and regular.
I lay beside him until dawn, listening to the man who had promised to protect me sleep peacefully after explaining how he intended to rob me.
I didn’t cry.
Not because I was strong.
Because I was afraid that if I started, I might never stop.
And before the sun rose, I had already decided that I would find out what else he was hiding.
I just didn’t know yet that the apartment was the smallest part of it.
***
The first person I spoke to the following morning was my father.
The second was a solicitor named Imelda Raynott, who had spent twenty-six years handling estate disputes and who had absolutely no patience for wealthy families that assumed money could make their mistakes disappear.
