Chapter 3 3

One million dollars.

Journey looked at the zeroes. To a normal person, it was a fortune. To the Kensingtons, it was the catering budget for the annual summer gala. It was a payoff. A bribe to go away quietly.

"Severance," Preston said. "Enough to buy a property in Queens. Cash."

Journey felt a laugh threaten to escape again. She kept it behind her teeth. She placed her fingertips on the check and slid it toward her.

"Done."

Alleen made a small, choking sound. Her eyes were wide, fixated on the paper. She looked like she wanted to snatch it.

"However," Victoria added, her voice hardening, "you must sign this Non-Disclosure Agreement. Whatever happened in this house, stays in this house."

Journey took the pen from Preston's hand. She didn't read the text. She knew standard Kensington legal boilerplate better than she knew the Bible. She signed her name with a flourish. Journey Cobb.

She stood up. "I'll pack."

"Wait," Alleen said. She scrambled to her feet, blocking Journey's path to the door. "You can't take the Kensington things."

Journey looked down at the girl. Alleen was shorter, softer.

"Excuse me?"

"The clothes," Alleen said, pointing a shaking finger at Journey's outfit. "The jewelry. The bags. Mom and Dad paid for those. They belong to the family."

Victoria looked uncomfortable. "Alleen, honey, let her have the clothes..."

"No!" Alleen stomped her foot. "She's stealing!"

Journey turned to Higgins, who was hovering by the door. "Bring my trunks down, please."

Higgins nodded, disappearing. Moments later, two footmen carried three large Louis Vuitton trunks into the drawing room.

Alleen lunged for the nearest one, popping the latches. She threw the lid open. Inside, rows of silk, cashmere, and limited-edition leather stared back at her.

"See!" Alleen shrieked. "This is worth more than the check! You're a thief!"

Preston frowned, stepping forward. "Journey, if these were purchased with the family allowance..."

Journey reached into her handbag. She pulled out a thick stack of paper, clipped together. She tossed it onto the coffee table. The papers fanned out.

Receipts.

"Check the payment method," Journey said. Her voice was bored.

Preston picked up the top sheet. His brow furrowed. "L.C. Holdings? Who is this?"

"A private trust left to me by a godparent you've likely forgotten, managed through a holding company to minimize taxes," Journey lied smoothly. "Or perhaps you recall the dividends from my junior investments? I've been self-sufficient since I was sixteen."

Preston narrowed his eyes, studying the document. The explanation was plausible-L.C. Holdings looked like a standard shell for trust fund disbursements. He made a mental note to have his secretary run a background check on the entity later, just in case. For now, however, the paperwork appeared legal.

"Very well," Preston muttered, dropping the receipt. "It seems valid."

Alleen began digging through the trunk, her hands rough on the delicate fabrics. She was desperate to find a flaw, a Kensington crest, anything to prove Journey was a fraud. But there was nothing.

Journey stepped forward. She grabbed the lid of the trunk and slammed it shut. The wind from the movement blew Alleen's hair back. Alleen yanked her hand away just in time to avoid broken fingers.

"Don't touch my things," Journey said. Her voice dropped an octave. It wasn't a request. It was a command.

Alleen stumbled back, her eyes wide with genuine fear. For a second, she saw something behind Journey's eyes that wasn't a displaced socialite. She saw a shark.

Journey signaled the footmen. "To the curb."

She picked up the check, folded it once, knowing it would take three business days to clear the bank's fraud detection protocols, and walked out the door without looking back.