The screen lit up with another text from the unknown sender.

“Open the door, Elena.”

“Let’s talk about the money.”

“Shh, sweetie, stay right there,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

I slid the deadbolt into place, the brass cold against my thumb.

I pulled my phone out and hit the speed dial for Lydia Monroe.

Lydia answered on the second ring.

“Elena? What is happening?” her voice was sharp, instantly alert.

“Someone is at the door,” I whispered, crouching behind the kitchen island.

“He sent a video feed. He knows I am here. He texted me about the money.”

“Do not open it,” Lydia said. “Are your security cameras recording?”

“Yes, the cloud storage is active.”

“I am calling the local sheriff’s department right now,” Lydia said.

“Keep your phone recording. If he speaks, let him speak to the door.”

The man knocked again, three heavy thuds that vibrated through the old wood.

“Elena,” a voice called out from the porch.

It was deep, calm, and entirely unfamiliar.

“I know you are in there,” the voice said. “Julian sent me to deliver a proposal.”