7. The Bait
Chapter seven
The Bait
Itraced the gold-leaf rim of the china teacup with my bare index finger.
Steam curled over the surface of the chamomile, carrying a faint, earthy scent that clashed with the aggressive floral perfume invading the space.
Lavinia stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island.
She adjusted the cuffs of her silk blouse, her gaze sweeping over my slumped posture. I rested my other hand over my stomach.
“You haven’t touched your tea, Cecilia,” Lavinia said. “You need to hydrate.”
“I know.” I let my voice waver, keeping my eyes fixed on the pale liquid in the cup. “It just doesn’t taste right today.”
Lavinia sighed. She reached across the polished marble counter and pushed a linen napkin closer to my elbow. She always needed an audience, and I was trapped right in front of her. The thin soles of my slippers offered zero protection against the cold stone floor.
I blinked several times, forcing my eyes to water. I sniffled.
“I know it’s silly, Mom, but I can’t stop thinking about that cake,” I said. “The baby is just… making my cravings so unpredictable today, and nothing else sounds good.”
I pictured the artisanal bakery across town. Maison Valer. With the mid-morning city traffic bottlenecked on the bridges, the drive guaranteed a two-hour round trip. Lavinia’s posture straightened. Her eyes sparked with the sudden thrill of coming to my rescue.
“Oh, stop getting upset, sweetie,” Lavinia said. “It is not silly at all. I will run across town right now and get you a whole box of them.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. I swiped a knuckle under my eye. “It’s going to take forever in the traffic.”
“Nonsense,” Lavinia said. “You just sit here and rest. I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone.”
She turned and marched toward the mudroom, grabbing her designer coat off the brass hook and sliding the expensive wool over her shoulders.
A ring of keys jingled as she snatched them from the valet tray.
She blew me a kiss from the threshold, her diamond rings flashing under the recessed lighting, and stepped out into the garage.
The interior door clicked shut. A second later, the massive motor engaged. The heavy garage door emitted a metallic grind that vibrated through the kitchen walls. I listened to the engine of her sedan rumble to life. The car reversed down the concrete driveway, and the door rattled shut again.
With her gone, the house felt hollow. In the empty space, the hum of the stainless-steel refrigerator sounded deafening. I stared at the closed mudroom door.
I reached up and dragged the back of my hand across my cheek, wiping the wet track from my skin. I took a sharp breath, willing my fingers to stop shaking. I pressed both palms flat against the cold stone and pushed myself off the stool.
A shadow shifted in the main hallway. Bastien emerged from the edge of the foyer, his bespoke suit blending into the dim lighting of the hall. He stopped at the archway leading into the kitchen.
“The perimeter gate just locked behind her,” Bastien said.
“Good,” I said. “We have two hours.”
I abandoned the teacup on the island and walked toward Bastien, my slippers sliding over the polished stone. The estate was silent. We had to move. His desk contained a secure drawer, and I intended to crack it on the first try.
Bastien fell into step beside me as we walked down the long corridor.
I turned my back on the kitchen, heading straight toward my husband’s sanctuary.
I pushed the locked mahogany door open, letting it swing inward on silent hinges. The heavy scent of his Scotch hung in the quiet room. I stepped over the threshold, leaving the door cracked behind me so I could hear Bastien if anyone approached.
I walked directly to the massive desk sitting in the center of the room. The built-in bookshelves towering against the walls were meticulously organized, every leather-bound spine perfectly aligned.
“Come on, Tobias,” I whispered to the empty room. “Where are you hiding it?”
I dropped to my knees on the thick rug, bracing one hand against the edge of the desk to accommodate my stomach. I pulled on the top drawer. It slid open, yielding nothing but high-end stationery and silver pens. I checked the middle drawer next. Empty files.
I shifted my weight and grabbed the handle of the bottom-right drawer. It refused to budge. I let go and examined the wood paneling. A small black digital PIN pad sat flush against the surface, glowing with a steady red light.
I hovered my index finger over the numbered keys.
Four digits. He wouldn’t use his birthday, he thinks that’s too common. He’d use the year he thinks he conquered the world.
Tobias was a raging narcissist, always desperate to prove his own brilliance. He used the year he won his country club golf championship for everything—his gym locker, his iPad, the alarm code for his sports car. He thought it was a clever, untraceable inside joke.
I punched the four digits into the keypad.
The red light vanished. A soft green glow replaced it, accompanied by a quiet click as the drawer unlocked.
“Got you,” I muttered to the illuminated pin-pad.
I gripped the brass handle and pulled the drawer open. The interior was bare, save for a single object resting flat against the felt lining. A sleek black secondary smartphone. I reached in and picked it up. The device felt cold and heavy in my palm.
I brought the phone up closer to my face, staring at the blank display. Tobias’s corporate emails and primary devices were monitored by his financial firm. This was the ghost device. This was where he kept the dirt.
I swiped my thumb across the smooth glass, watching as the home screen lit up.
I sat flat on the thick rug, shifting my weight to lean into the tight gap.
The bright glare of the smartphone illuminated the dim shadows beneath the wood paneling.
I scrolled past thousands of mundane corporate emails and encrypted financial ledgers.
Minutes bled away as I searched. My lower back ached from the awkward angle on the floor.
“Come on, Tobias, what are you hiding?” I whispered to the glowing screen.
I backed out of the email client and tested a banking app. A prompt for facial recognition blocked the screen. I clicked the home button, abandoning the dead end, and opened the basic messenger. A long thread with an unsaved phone number sat near the top of the inbox. I tapped the icon.
A barrage of white and blue text bubbles filled the screen, loaded with vulgar descriptions of hotel rooms and afternoon encounters. The sheer volume of the messages made me sick. I stared at the timestamps, my blood running cold as the dates lined up perfectly with his late nights at the firm.
Then, my eyes snagged on a specific exchange. I stopped scrolling, letting my hand hover over the glass. I read the words typed by the man I married.
She’s so clueless. Sitting here rubbing her belly, thanking me for saving her.
A response from the unsaved number followed a minute later.
Just like Pieter. I played that ruthless bastard with a positive pregnancy test, and you’re playing his daughter with this pathetic hero routine. Just keep her scared and get the money.
My grip tightened on the black plastic casing until the edges bit into my palm.
I couldn’t bring myself to scroll past the messages.
The absolute depravity of it sat right there in stark white pixels.
My mother traded me to a syndicate just to secure her cut, employing the exact same tactic she used to trap my dead father.
“Disgusting,” I muttered.
I gritted my teeth and kept swiping, pushing past the vulgarity.
Adultery offered me nothing in a courtroom.
I needed a financial trail. I closed the messaging app and clicked the calendar icon, scanning the dates surrounding the ransom drop.
A single entry blocked out a four-hour window on a Tuesday afternoon.
It bore a three-word title: Sovereign Safe - Drop.
The Sovereign. Lavinia’s luxury condo building. Tobias used her private residence as the secure middle ground to handle his cash.
Two sharp raps against the mahogany doorframe made me jump. I lowered the phone to my lap, gripping the lip of the leather-topped desk. Bastien stepped into the office, moving quietly across the carpet. He kept one hand resting near the lapel of his jacket, his gaze fixed on the open doorway.
“Lavinia’s car is at the front gate,” Bastien said, his voice a low rasp. “You need to close that drawer right now.”
I planted my feet and pushed myself up from the rug, wincing at the stiffness in my spine. I clutched the device to my chest.
“I have something,” I said. “He’s using a safe at Lavinia’s condo for the financial drops. I just found a calendar entry for it.”
Bastien stepped closer, scanning the hallway behind him to ensure the maids remained upstairs. The rumble of the front security gate reverberated through the floorboards. Our time was up.
“That’s more than enough,” Bastien whispered. “Put the phone back exactly how you found it. It’s time to say hi to your mother.”
I dropped back down to the floor, ignoring the returning twinge in my spine.
Without a second thought, I shoved the black smartphone into the bottom-right drawer.
I placed it exactly where I found it, ensuring the device rested seamlessly against the felt.
The brass handle was cold as I pushed the mahogany paneling shut.
I hovered my hand over the wood, staring at the digital PIN pad. The glowing green light blinked once and vanished. A solid red dot took its place as the internal mechanism sealed the drawer shut with a sharp click. The secret was safely locked away.