Juliette took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling quickly.

She opened the front door, letting in a gust of hot, humid air.

On the porch stood the delivery man, holding a large, steaming insulated bag.

“Is this for Juliette?” the delivery man asked, looking uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Juliette said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

“Bring it inside, please.”

“No,” I said, stepping forward.

“Leave it on the porch.”

The delivery man looked between us, his eyes wide.

“Uh, I just need a signature,” he said.

“I’ll sign,” Juliette said, reaching for his clipboard.

Before she could touch it, the phone in my pocket began to vibrate violently.

I pulled it out.

It was a text message from an unknown number.

I tapped the screen, my eyes widening as the message loaded.

It was a photo of a legal document, dated three days ago.

At the bottom was Juliette’s signature, next to a bank transfer confirmation for an amount that made my stomach drop.

I looked up at Juliette, who was currently signing the clipboard with a flourish.

“You didn’t just inherit the estate, did you?” I asked.