The rich smell of roasting garlic and rosemary was already beginning to fill the air.

“Mrs. Vance,” Laura said, wiping her hands on a white apron.

“We are setting up the prep boards now.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” I said, offering a tight smile.

Derek was downstairs in the living room, his voice booming as he talked to a client.

“We need to finalize the quarterly numbers by Thursday!” he shouted into his phone.

He paced back and forth near the fireplace, completely ignoring my return.

I walked quietly past the living room archway.

I took the stairs one by one, keeping my weight off the creaky third step.

The upper hallway was empty and quiet, insulated from the kitchen noise below.

I pushed open the heavy oak door to Derek’s home office.

The room smelled of expensive leather and stale cigar smoke.

I walked over to the mahogany desk.

The silver laptop sat in the center of the leather blotter, closed and cold.

I opened the lid, and the screen glowed in the dim room.