Chapter 6 6

Six hours before the escape.

Alistair marched Katelyn up to the third floor.

He opened the heavy oak doors to Arnett's private study and shoved her inside.

The room was dim, lit only by a green banker's lamp.

The walls were lined with early abstract expressionist paintings. Katelyn's stomach dropped. They were her mother's early works.

The air was thick with the suffocating smell of aged leather and Arnett's cigars.

Arnett sat behind his massive desk, rolling an expensive fountain pen between his fingers.

His eyes slithered over Katelyn's body like physical hands.

"Sit," he commanded.

Katelyn sat on the edge of the leather chair, keeping her eyes on her knees.

Arnett sighed, a fake, theatrical sound of disappointment.

"You embarrassed this family yesterday, Katelyn," he said softly. "But I am a forgiving man. I want to give you a chance to make amends."

He slid a thick manila folder across the polished wood.

Katelyn looked down.

It was a medical authorization form from the exclusive private care facility in Switzerland where her grandmother lived.

"Your grandmother's experimental treatments are very expensive," Arnett murmured.

He pulled another document from his drawer and placed it next to the medical file.

"Sign this, relinquishing your shares in the Reed family trust, and I will ensure the facility continues her medication."

Katelyn's lungs seized.

Her grandmother was the only person left in the world who loved her. Arnett had found her only weakness and put a knife to its throat.

Arnett stood up. He walked slowly around the desk and stopped right behind her chair.

He leaned down. She felt his breath on her neck.

He inhaled deeply, smelling her shampoo.

"You look so much like her," Arnett whispered, his voice thick with a sick, repressed lust. "So arrogant. So desperately in need of discipline."

Katelyn's whole body went rigid. Bile rose in her throat.

She forced two hot tears to spill over her eyelashes.

She reached out with a trembling hand.

She picked up the pen with her left hand.

She was right-handed.

With jerky, unnatural strokes, she signed her name on the trust document.

Under California law, a signature obtained under duress, with abnormal handwriting, could easily be contested in court.

Arnett smiled, looking at the signature. He felt like a god.

"Good girl," he said. "You may take a walk in the garden this afternoon. One hour."

At 2:45 PM, Katelyn walked out the back doors into the French gardens.

She wore a baggy gray tracksuit. Two security guards trailed ten feet behind her.

She kept her head down, but her eyes darted toward the private access road beyond the wrought-iron gates.

At 2:55 PM, the roar of a V6 engine shattered the quiet afternoon.

A bright red Porsche 911 slammed on its brakes right outside the main gate.

Eleanor hopped out, wearing oversized sunglasses and a furious expression.

"Open this gate!" Eleanor screamed at the gatehouse guards. "Chelsea stole my Birkin bag and I want it back right now!"

The guards in the garden tapped their earpieces, distracted by the shouting at the front.

At exactly 3:00 PM, the estate's massive irrigation system kicked on.

A thick wall of water sprayed into the air, catching the sunlight and creating a blinding mist across the lawn.

Katelyn dropped to a crouch.

She sprinted behind a row of tall rose bushes, moving with terrifying speed.

She reached the heavy side gate.

She pulled a small, black device from her pocket-an EMP generator she bought off the dark web.

She slammed it against the electronic card reader.

She pressed the button.

A sharp zap echoed. The magnetic lock clicked and died.

Katelyn shoved the heavy iron gate open and slipped through.

She didn't look back. She ran down the shaded perimeter wall, her lungs burning, her legs pumping.

Five hundred yards down the road, an abandoned bus stop came into view.

Tires screeched.

The red Porsche drifted to a halt right in front of her. The passenger door popped open.

Eleanor pulled down her sunglasses. "Get in, Cinderella."

Katelyn threw herself into the leather seat.

The Porsche tore off down Highway 101, leaving the golden cage in the dust.