The Hamptons estate was a fortress of white shingles and manicured hedges. Katharina parked her rental Jeep in the dense woods bordering the property.
She wore black cargo pants and a dark windbreaker. She slipped through a gap in the fence where the ivy had overgrown the sensors. She knew about it because she used to prune that ivy herself.
Loud pop music thumped from the backyard.
She crept through the rhododendrons until she had a view of the Great Lawn.
A massive white tent was set up. Photography equipment was everywhere.
Grafton, Ainsley, and Harlow were posing on a vintage picnic blanket. A photographer was shouting directions.
"Big smiles! Show us the love! The new era of Huff!"
Ainsley was wearing a white lace sundress. Katharina stopped breathing. She had designed that dress. She had sewn the lace by hand for Ainsley's sweet sixteen.
Harlow was sitting next to Grafton, her hand on his chest. Around her neck hung the emerald pendant.
Katharina felt a physical blow to her gut. It wasn't jealousy. It was violation. They were wearing her life like a costume.
She forced her eyes away. Focus.
She slipped to the side of the main house. The cellar doors were locked, but the keypad was old. She punched in the code: 0-8-2-4. Leo's birthday. Grafton never changed codes; he was too arrogant to think anyone would guess.
The door clicked. She slipped into the cool, damp darkness.
The wine cellar smelled of oak and dust. She went to the back wall, behind the racks of vintage Bordeaux. She felt for the loose brick and pushed.
The panel slid open. A small wall safe was revealed.
She typed the code again. 0-8-2-4.
The safe beeped and swung open.
Inside lay a titanium hard drive and a leather-bound journal.
She grabbed them. Her hands were shaking. This was it. The proof of the money laundering. The proof of the illegal clinical trials.
Footsteps thudded on the stairs above.
"I need more champagne!" Ainsley's voice echoed down the stairwell.
"I'll help you pick," Harlow said.
Katharina dove behind a stack of oversized wine barrels. She curled into a ball, clutching the hard drive to her chest.
Ainsley and Harlow walked into the cellar. The light from the hallway cut across the floor.
"Ugh, it smells like mold down here," Ainsley complained.
"Grab the Dom Perignon," Harlow said. "We need to celebrate. The cover is going to be iconic."
"Did you see Uncle Grafton's face when the photographer asked about Katharina?" Ainsley laughed. "He looked like he ate a lemon."
"She's history, babe," Harlow said. "Once the magazine comes out, no one will even remember her name. She was just... a placeholder."
"A background character," Ainsley agreed.
Katharina bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. Background character.
They grabbed two bottles and left, their laughter fading up the stairs.
Katharina waited a full minute. Then she stood up.
She walked to the exit, but stopped in the hallway. On the wall, where her portrait used to hang-an oil painting she had sat for at her university graduation-there was now a large, abstract photo of Harlow's eye.
They had erased her. Physically, socially, historically.
Katharina felt a cold calm settle over her. The sadness evaporated.
She walked out the side door. Through the window, she saw Grafton standing in the kitchen, pouring water. He looked up. Their eyes met through the glass for a split second.
He dropped the glass. It shattered.
Katharina didn't stop. She ran to the woods, jumped in the Jeep, and floored it.
She dialed Elias.
"I have the drive," she said. "Execute Plan B. Short the stock."
