We're going back, Sera said.
She stood in front of Harrison the next morning. She was wearing a tailored black dress she'd bought with his card. It fit like armor.
Harrison frowned. To the Quinn house? Why?
I need the necklace. The Beloved. My mother wore it every day. It has the access key to the trust.
I'll send a guard.
No. They'll hide it. I have to go.
Then I'm coming with you.
Sera paused. You never leave the estate.
I'm not letting my wife go into a den of vipers alone. It looks bad for the brand.
Sera smiled. Right. The brand.
When the car pulled up to the Quinn mansion, it was a circus. Reporters were swarming the driveway. Lydia had done her work well.
Is it true you hit him? a reporter shouted, shoving a microphone at the window.
Are you only here for the money?
Sera stepped out. The flashes were blinding. She walked around to the other side and opened the door. She unfolded the wheelchair.
Harrison transferred himself into it. He put on his sunglasses. He looked like a king on a throne of chrome and leather.
Sera pushed him toward the door. The reporters crowded in.
Mrs. Sterling! Look here!
Harrison raised one hand. It was a small gesture, but it commanded absolute silence.
Move, he said.
The reporters parted like the Red Sea.
Inside, the mood was funeral. Jerome looked ten years older. Tiffany's face was swollen and purple on one side.
Sera didn't waste time. Give me the necklace.
Lydia sniffed. We lost it. Years ago.
Sera's eyes scanned the room. She looked at Tiffany. There was a silver chain peeking out from under the collar of her high-necked sweater.
Liar.
Sera marched over to Tiffany.
Don't touch me! Tiffany shrieked, backing away.
Sera grabbed the collar of Tiffany's sweater and ripped it down. The silver pendant-a teardrop diamond-glinted in the light.
Sera didn't ask. She reached behind Tiffany's neck and unclasped it. Tiffany tried to scratch her, but Sera caught her wrist and twisted.
Ow! Let go!
That's mine, Sera said coldly.
Jerome stepped forward. That's enough! Get out of my house!
Harrison tapped his cane on the floor. Thud.
Jerome, Harrison said, his voice bored. Do you want me to buy your company just to fire you?
Jerome froze.
Let her take it, Harrison said. Whatever she wants.
Sera clasped the necklace around her own neck. The metal was warm from Tiffany's skin, which made her skin crawl, but the weight of it was grounding.
She turned to Harrison. I'm done.
They walked out. The reporters were still there, but they stayed back.
In the car, Sera took the necklace off. She ran her thumb over the back of the setting. There was a tiny groove. She pressed it with her fingernail. The intricate silver filigree on the back shifted, a section sliding aside to reveal not a memory card, but a small, uniquely shaped piece of metal. A custom-made vault key.
Harrison heard the click.
Got it? he asked.
Sera held the key tight. Got it.
Thank you, she said softly. For coming.
Harrison shrugged. I just hate it when people touch my property.
Sera looked at him. Property.
She slid the key back in. It didn't matter what he called her. As long as he protected her.
