CHAPTER FOUR
Diane Rothschild stepped out of the elevator and into her penthouse foyer.
The click of her heels against the marble echoed in the silence.
The charity gala had run late, stretching past midnight with speeches that went on far too long and champagne that flowed freely enough to make everyone forget they were supposed to have left two hours ago.
Her feet ached from standing in stilettos for six hours straight, and the diamond necklace at her throat felt heavier than it had when she'd first clasped it on.
She dropped her clutch on the console table near the door and walked into the living room.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of Manhattan that had cost her seven million dollars, the city lights spreading out below like a carpet of stars.
The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning.
Her assistant had left hours ago, and the building's overnight doorman was twelve floors below.
She was alone, which was exactly what she wanted after an evening of forced smiles and pointless conversations about tax-deductible donations.
Diane moved to the bar cart near the window and poured herself two fingers of scotch.
She took a sip and felt the burn settle pleasantly in her chest. The photographers had been relentless tonight, their cameras flashing every time she turned around.
She knew the images would be in tomorrow's society pages.
Diane Rothschild in Valentino, dripping in platinum and diamonds.
The necklace alone was worth two hundred thousand dollars, part of a set that included the earrings and bracelet she was currently wearing.
She had other jewelry that was worth more, pieces passed down through her family or acquired at auction.
But this platinum set was her favorite. The metal had a weight and presence that gold lacked, a cool elegance that suited her.
She wore it to every major event, had worn it when she was photographed for Vogue last year, had worn it to the Met Gala three years running.
Diane took another sip of scotch and reached up to unclasp the necklace.
Her fingers worked at the small catch at the back of her neck, struggling slightly with the mechanism.
The thing about expensive jewelry was that it was often impractical, designed more for appearance than ease of use.
She finally got the clasp open and set the necklace carefully on the bar cart.
The diamonds caught the light from the city below, throwing tiny prisms across the dark wood.
She moved on to the earrings next, pulling them free one at a time and setting them beside the necklace.
The bracelet came off last, sliding over her wrist with a satisfying weight.
She would put everything in the safe before bed, but for now she just wanted to finish her drink and maybe soak in the tub for twenty minutes before collapsing into bed.
As she made her way to the bathroom to start running the tub of water, she heard a faint sound coming from deeper in the apartment. A soft thud, like something being set down carefully.
Diane froze with the glass halfway to her lips.
The apartment should be empty. The cleaning service came on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Her assistant had her own key but never came by this late (and besides, she’d been just as worn down as Diane had been when they’d parted ways).
Besides, the doorman would have called if anyone had asked to come up.
She set the glass down and listened. Silence stretched out for several seconds. Maybe she had imagined it. Maybe it was just the building settling, or sounds from a neighboring unit bleeding through the walls.
But then there was another sound…quieter this time, but definitely there. It was coming from the direction of her bedroom.
Diane's hand went to her phone in her clutch, but she had left it on the console table by the door.
She considered calling out, asking if anyone was there, but something stopped her.
If this was a burglar, announcing her presence seemed like a bad idea.
Better to call security from the bedroom phone and let them handle it.
She walked down the hallway, removing the stupid heels so they’d not click against the hardwood. The door to her bedroom stood partially open, exactly as she had left it that morning. The room beyond was dark except for the ambient light from the city filtering through the sheer curtains.
Diane pushed the door open wider and reached for the light switch. Before her fingers found it, she heard movement inside the walk-in closet. The door was ajar and she could see a shadow shifting in the space beyond.
"Who's there?" The words came out before she could stop them, and she hated how terrified she sounded.
A figure emerged from the closet. They moved slowly, deliberately, stepping into the dim light from the windows.
Diane's first impression was of someone average in every way.
They were of medium height and medium build, wearing dark clothing that made them hard to see clearly in the shadows.
They could have been male or female, young or old.
The only detail that stood out was a surgical mask covering the lower half of their face.
"Incorruptible metal," the figure said. Their voice was soft, almost gentle. "Worn by the most corrupt."
Diane took a step backward, feeling like an absolute idiot for leaving her phone in her clutch.
Right now, it felt a million miles away.
Her throat felt tight and her heart was hammering against her ribs.
She should run. She should scream. She should do something other than stand here frozen while this person spoke in riddles.
But that was exactly the problem: she was frozen in fear.
"I don't have much cash here," she managed to say. "But you can take whatever you want. The jewelry is in the living room. The safe code is written down in my desk drawer."
The figure moved closer. "I'm not here for money."
Diane saw their hand come up, saw something glinting in the faint light. A syringe. The realization hit her a half-second before she could react. She opened her mouth to scream and tried to turn toward the door.
The figure was faster. They closed the distance between them in two quick steps and grabbed Diane's arm. She felt a sharp sting in her bicep, felt the needle pierce through the thin fabric of her dress and into muscle. The plunger depressed and something cold flooded into her system.
"What did you do?" Diane pulled away and stumbled backward. Her hand went to her arm where the injection site was already beginning to burn. "What…what was that?"
"Just something to help you stay still." The figure stepped back, watching her with what might have been clinical interest. "Don’t fret. It will work quickly."
Diane tried to move toward the door but her legs felt strange, disconnected from her body.
The muscles were not responding the way they should.
She took one unsteady step and then her knees buckled.
She caught herself on the edge of the bed, gripping the comforter with hands that were rapidly losing strength.
"You wear platinum like armor," the figure said.
They had moved to stand near the window, backlit by the city lights.
"Like it makes you untouchable. But platinum doesn't rust. It doesn't corrode.
It's pure and incorruptible, and you've corrupted it just by putting it on your body. And worse…you’ve corrupted others. "
Diane wanted to respond, wanted to tell this person they were insane, but her jaw had stopped working properly.
Whatever they’d injected her with was spreading through her system with terrifying speed.
Her hands slipped off the comforter and she collapsed onto the bed, unable to control her fall.
She landed on her back, staring up at the ceiling, completely immobile.
The figure moved closer and looked down at her.
In the darkness, Diane could not make out any features beyond the mask.
She could not even tell if they were looking at her with satisfaction or regret or nothing at all.
Diane's vision was starting to blur at the edges.
She tried to move, tried to scream, tried to do anything at all.
But her body was no longer hers to command.
The paralytic had stolen everything from her except the ability to see and hear and understand what was happening.
The figure reached down and began systematically removing the rest of Diane's jewelry. They took the rings from her fingers and the watch from her wrist. After that, she didn’t see much. The world became just one huge blur.
The last thing Diane saw before her vision faded completely was the figure opening a metal case they had retrieved from the closet. Inside, carefully wrapped in protective material, was something that caught the light from the windows.
The case was not hers; she was quite sure of that. No, this person had brought it in with them and for some reason her weakening mind could not pinpoint, that was somehow the most terrifying thing of all.