My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Julian would realize what I had taken the moment he checked his coat pocket.

I had maybe twenty minutes before he called ahead to alert the staff.

I leaned my head against the cold glass of the window, staring at the blurred yellow headlights of Manhattan.

The city looked distant, a collection of towering shadows that felt entirely hostile.

The cab crossed the bridge, the tires humming over the wet metal grating.

I looked at the keycard again.

It was heavier than a standard hotel key, embedded with a microchip that gleamed under the streetlights.

Aetheris Wellness was a name I had seen in the Whitmore Global ledger files weeks ago.

It had been listed under discretionary medical expenses, funded through an offshore account in the Caymans.

At the time, I thought it was just another tax write-off for the family.

Now, I knew better.

The cab pulled up to the curb in front of a narrow, limestone building.

It looked exactly like every other multi-million-dollar townhouse on the Upper East Side.