The explosive sound of shattering porcelain was deafening. But Mrs. Higgins didn’t stop there. With shocking speed, she snatched a razor-sharp jagged shard from the floor and slashed it aggressively across the palm of her own hand.
Crimson blood bloomed instantly, dripping onto the pristine white rug. She let out a blood-curdling, terrified scream. “Help! Oh, God, help me! The glass!”
The bedroom door burst open. The guard, a hulking man with a radio strapped to his chest, lunged into the room, his eyes instantly drawn to the screaming elderly woman and the pool of blood forming at her feet.
“Ma’am! Hold still!” he shouted, rushing toward her, his back completely turned to the linen closet.
Go, Mrs. Higgins mouthed to me, her eyes fierce through her tears.
Leo grabbed my arm. We had a five-second blind spot. We moved like phantoms, slipping behind the towering oak wardrobe, pressing the concealed panel, and melting into the narrow, dust-scented darkness of the servant’s corridor just as the wall clicked shut behind us.
We navigated the claustrophobic passageways in total silence, emerging into the damp, cool air of the subterranean garage where Leo had staged an unmarked black SUV.
As the engine roared to life and we tore out of the service exit, tearing down the winding canyon roads of Bel-Air, Leo passed me his tablet.
“It’s not just the infidelity or the PR stunt tonight, Mom,” Leo said, his eyes glued to the dark road. “Natalie didn’t just steal your dress. She’s been siphoning capital. I found fourteen million dollars funneled through dummy consulting invoices tied to offshore shell corporations in the Caymans. Julian rubber-stamped every single transfer using his executive discretion.”
