Jojo lent Chanel two hundred dollars cash and a nondescript gray hoodie.
Don't get arrested, Jojo warned.
Chanel took the subway back to Long Island. It was a new experience. The noise, the smell, the crush of bodies. But she navigated it with a strange ease.
She arrived near the estate at dusk.
She knew the servants' shift change was at 7 PM. She remembered that rhythm.
She moved toward the rear of the property, her body remembering a path her mind couldn't. She recalled the quarterly landscaping overhauls, how for forty-eight hours, the pressure plates along the north hedge were deactivated to prevent false alarms from the heavy machinery. She checked her phone. It was the first Tuesday of the month. The system would be down. She slipped through the perfectly manicured hedge, her feet landing silently on the soft mulch within the perimeter.
She crept through the garden, avoiding the sweeping arcs of the security cameras.
In the distance, she saw a car parked at the neighbor's estate-Montgomery Manor. It was a black Maybach. Duke's car.
She shuddered and focused on her own house.
She found the spare key hidden under a fake rock near the kitchen entrance. It was still there.
She entered the mudroom. It was quiet. She could hear voices in the dining room. Dinner was being served.
She sneaked up the back stairs to her old room.
Her room had been ransacked. Her clothes were gone. The closet was empty.
But the painting on the wall was untouched.
She moved it aside. The safe was there.
She tried the code. Her birthday. Error.
She tried Beckham's birthday. Error.
She paused, her mind a blank. Then, a ghost of a memory surfaced. Not of the code itself, but of setting it. She had chosen something that was hers alone, a number that represented her first real escape. The date she received her Wharton acceptance letter. Her family had scoffed at it, called it a triviality. They would never think to change something they deemed so insignificant. She typed in the six digits: 0-4-1-5-1-6.
Click. The light turned green.
The safe opened. Inside were her passport, birth certificate, and the degrees.
There was also a small velvet box. She opened it. A simple silver locket. She put it in her pocket with the documents.
She heard heavy footsteps in the hallway.
She froze.
The door handle turned.
Liam, her brother, entered. He was holding a beer bottle.
He spotted her immediately.
Well, well, he sneered. Look what the cat dragged in.
He blocked the doorway, a cruel grin spreading across his face. He was big, a former college linebacker who had gone to seed.
Chanel clutched the documents in her hoodie pocket. Her heart raced against her ribs.
