Harrison Vincent stood in the middle of his living room, looking at a pile of wet towels on the floor.
"Helena!" he shouted. "Where is the blue folder? The trust documents!"
Silence answered him.
Then, Sienna walked in. She was eating a slice of pizza from a box sitting on the coffee table.
"Stop yelling," she said, chewing loudly. "That old hag wouldn't listen to me, so I fired her."
Harrison froze. "You fired Mrs. Higgins?"
"She corrected my pronunciation of 'Givenchy'," Sienna rolled her eyes. "She was rude."
"Mrs. Higgins has been with the family for thirty years!" Harrison exploded. "She runs this house! She knows where everything is!"
He looked around. The apartment, usually a sanctuary of minimalist grey and white, was cluttered with Sienna's shopping bags. She had replaced the abstract art over the fireplace with a gaudy, pink oil painting of a poodle.
"It's kitsch, babe," Sienna had said. "It's artistic."
Harrison felt a vein throb in his forehead. He walked to the kitchen to get water. He tripped over a pair of Sienna's heels left in the hallway.
He caught himself on the counter, knocking over a glass of red wine Sienna had left there. The wine splashed across the marble and dripped onto the floor.
"Oh my god," Sienna whined. "You're so clumsy."
She grabbed a dishtowel-a decorative silk one-and started smearing the wine around, making it worse.
"Get out," Harrison said.
"What?"
"Get out of the kitchen! Don't touch anything!"
Sienna threw the towel down and stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door.
Harrison stood in the mess. He missed the quiet. He missed the way the house always smelled of fresh linen and Helena's subtle tuberose perfume. He missed the way his life just worked when she was around.
He pulled out his phone. He typed a text: Okay, you made your point. The house is a mess. Come back and fix it.
Message Send Failure.
He stared at the screen. She had blocked him.
Helena sat in her tiny kitchen in Brooklyn. She was using the new antique knife-sterilized, of course-to slice an apple. The blade went through the fruit like it was butter.
Her phone pinged. A notification from her bank: Supplementary Card Ending in 4098 - Access Denied.
Harrison was trying to cut her off.
She smiled. She had cut that card up with kitchen shears two days ago.
She opened her laptop to check the Sotheby's auction schedule. A news alert popped up in the corner of the screen.
VINCENT GROUP SHARES WOBBLE AS CEO COLLIS VINCENT MISSES BOARD MEETING. RUMORS, LIKELY FUELED BY RIVAL FIRM DOUGLAS MARKS, OF ILLNESS CIRCULATE.
There was a photo of a man getting into a car. It was blurry, taken from a distance.
Helena leaned in. The build of the man... the broad shoulders, the way he held himself. It looked familiar.
She shook her head. It couldn't be. Collis Vincent was a myth, the ruthless uncle Harrison was terrified of. The man in the bathroom was just a high-level criminal.
She closed the tab. She had a collection to appraise tomorrow.
