Chapter 4 4

Elease walked up to the reception desk at The Pierre. She didn't have a credit card. Instead, she tapped her phone on the payment terminal.

"One suite," she said. "Indefinite stay."

The receptionist hesitated, looking at her hoodie and the canvas bag. But when she saw the payment go through, the system approved it instantly with a VIP flag.

"Of course, Ms...?"

"Smith," Elease said, providing a name that was both common and untraceable.

Ten minutes later, she was in a suite overlooking the city. It was luxurious, filled with cream-colored furniture and fresh orchids, but to Elease, it was just a base of operations.

She dumped her bag on the floor and set up the laptop on the mahogany desk.

She connected to the hotel's network, instantly building a firewall around her connection. Her fingers danced over the keys.

She pulled up the Finch Family digital calendar.

Tonight. 7:30 PM. Charity Gala Strategy Dinner. Location: Finch Estate.

Franklin Finch was planning to sell her out again. The voicemail had confirmed it. He needed Kason's money to prop up his failing company.

Elease leaned back in the chair. A memory surfaced-Isolde, her mother, sitting in the garden, staring at nothing. Weak. Medicated. Trapped in that house with the monsters.

"I can't just leave her there," Elease decided. The host body's residual guilt was a useful fuel. It gave her a mission.

She would attend the dinner. Not as a victim. Not as the scarred daughter. But as a disruptor.

She looked down at her clothes. The black hoodie and leggings were functional, but they were not armor. In the world of high society, clothes were weapons.

She needed war paint.

She authorized a temporary, high-limit virtual card on her phone, spoofing the credentials of a limitless American Express Centurion.

She grabbed her phone and left the room.

Downstairs, the doorman hailed her a cab.

"Bergdorf Goodman," she told the driver.

Meanwhile, miles away at the Finch Estate, the atmosphere was toxic.

Franklin Finch was pacing the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His face was red.

"Call her again!" he screamed. "If Kason pulls the funding, we are ruined! Do you understand?"

Isolde sat on the edge of the sofa, trembling. She held a lace handkerchief to her mouth.

"She... she might be hurt, Franklin," Isolde whispered. "She never ignores calls."

Alvera Sykes, Franklin's long-time mistress and "partner," sat on the opposite sofa. She was sipping tea, looking perfectly at ease.

"She's just being dramatic, Isolde," Alvera said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Like you. It runs in the blood."

Fannye, Alvera's daughter, laughed from the doorway. She was scrolling through her phone.

"Oh, Mother, be kind," Fannye said with a saccharine smile. "Imagine how awful it must be for her. Kason has finally come to his senses. I just hope poor Elease has a nice, thick veil to wear now that she doesn't have his money to hide behind."

Back in the cab, Elease watched the city roll by. She wasn't just recalling memories; she was running a tactical analysis on the Finch family structure. She watched Franklin's pacing gait in her mind's eye, recognizing the agitation of a narcissist who had lost his primary asset. She replayed Alvera's calm posture, the classic overcompensation of a manipulator terrified of losing her position. And Fannye... Fannye was just a parasite, motivated by a jealousy so deep it was her only personality trait.

She formulated a plan. Step 1: Psychological warfare.

The cab pulled up to the department store. The doorman hesitated when he saw her exit the vehicle in a hoodie.

Elease walked past him. She didn't look at him. She projected an air of absolute authority that made him step back and hold the door open without a word.

Inside, the air was cool and smelled of expensive perfume and leather.

She headed straight for the VIP section on the third floor.

As she rounded a corner near the evening wear, she heard a familiar, shrill laugh.

She stopped.

Standing near a rack of designer gowns were three women. Fannye, and her two shadows, Sloane and Blair.

They were holding up a dress-a backless silver thing that would look terrible on Elease's scarred skin.

"Imagine the Scarface wearing this," Sloane giggled, holding it up against herself.

Elease stood still. This was better than she had planned.

She approached them from behind, silent as a shadow.