Chapter 4 No.4

Sign, Frank said. He didn't look up.

Serena stood by the window, clutching her denim bag. She was wearing the pink dress. It was tight, uncomfortable, and ridiculous for a Tuesday morning.

She walked to the table. She picked up the pen. She hovered it over the signature line.

Then she stopped.

Frank stopped tapping. What are you doing?

She looked up at him. Her eyes were wide, innocent. She dropped the pen. It clattered loudly on the table.

I don't read so good, Uncle Frank, she said, her voice pitching up a little and her grammar slipping into the broken cadence she had perfected for them. But I know numbers. And I don't see my numbers here.

Frank's face turned a shade of purple she hadn't seen before. Excuse me?

I heard you and Aunt Brenda, she said. In the bathroom. You said two million.

Brenda gasped from the sofa. You little spy!

Serena took a step back, crossing her arms. I'm not signing. Not until I see the money.

Frank stood up so fast his chair tipped over. You ungrateful little gutter rat! We are giving you a life! We are giving you a future!

You're selling me to a monster! she screamed back. She let the tears come now. Panic, real and raw, or at least it looked that way. You said he kills people! If I'm going to die, I want to die rich!

Kayla marched over and got in her face. You don't deserve a dime.

Then go marry him yourself! Serena shoved the papers toward her.

Silence. Absolute silence descended on the room. Kayla recoiled as if the papers were radioactive. They all knew the truth. They were terrified of Julian Sterling.

Frank looked at his watch. The Sterling car would be here in twelve minutes. If she wasn't in it, the deal was off. The Vance family bankruptcy would be public by noon.

He was trapped. And he knew it.

Fine, he snarled. He pulled out his phone. Give me the account number.

Serena didn't hesitate. She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her bra. It had a routing number on it.

What is this? Frank squinted at it. This is... Swiss?

My friend's account, she lied smoothly. "She works at a bank. Said she could hold it for me so Momma don't steal it."

Frank didn't have time to argue. His fingers flew across the screen, trembling with rage. He authorized the wire transfer.

Serena waited. Her left eye began to itch-the signal from the contact lens she was wearing. A tiny, augmented reality overlay flickered in her vision.

Her fingers, hidden behind her back, tapped a sequence on the microscopic keypad embedded in her belt buckle. It was a failsafe. Frank thought he was sending a pending authorization, something he could cancel later. But with a little help from her end, the transfer was instant and irreversible.

Transfer Confirmed: $2,000,000.00 USD.

She smiled. It was a greedy, ugly smile. She grabbed the pen and scribbled her name on the documents. She didn't even read them.

The doorbell rang.

Frank grabbed her arm, his grip bruising. If you screw this up, Serena, I will find you. And I will make you wish you died in that house.

Serena pulled her arm away. She grabbed her bag.

Bye, Uncle Frank. Thanks for the tip.

She walked out the front door.

A stretch limousine was waiting. Standing beside the open door was a man who looked like he had been carved out of granite. He wore a tuxedo that fit him like armor. His hair was grey, cropped close. His eyes were cold, assessing, and utterly unimpressed.

Higgins. The Sterling family's head of security and estate manager.

He looked at her pink dress. He looked at her cheap bag. He didn't say a word. He just gestured for her to get in.

She climbed into the back. The leather here was softer than Frank's car. It smelled of expensive cologne and old money.

Higgins got in the back with her, sitting on the opposite bench. The partition was up. They were alone.

He tapped on a tablet, ignoring her completely.

She leaned back, clutching her bag to her chest. She let out a long, shaky breath.

The car began to move. She watched the Vance house disappear in the rearview mirror. She felt the weight of the two million dollars in the offshore account-funds that Wolf was already converting into cryptocurrency to buy the illegal chelation agents they needed for Julian.

She looked at Higgins. So, she said, popping a bubble of gum. Is he really crazy? Or is that just, like, a rumor?

Higgins looked up. His eyes were dead.

Ms. Vance, he said, his voice deep and smooth. In this family, the rumors are usually the polite version of the truth.