Celeste dropped the silver jewelry box onto the sofa with a heavy thud.

“This is ridiculous,” she cried, her voice cracking as she pulled her designer coat tighter around herself. “You can’t do this to us.”

“I am doing it,” I said.

The officers stepped forward, placing their hands lightly on Bennett’s arms.

He did not resist. He walked slowly toward the elevator, his head bowed, looking like a stranger in his own expensive clothes.

Celeste followed him, her high heels squeaking on the wet limestone foyer as she sobbed under her breath.

The elevator doors slid shut behind them, and the penthouse became suddenly, deeply quiet.

Marta walked over and picked up the silver jewelry box, placing it back on the side table where it belonged.

“Shall I prepare the guest room for you tonight, Mrs. Whitlock?” Marta asked.

“No, Marta,” I said, looking out the large windows at the city lights. “I will be staying at the hotel tonight. There is still work to do.”

“I will have your things moved to the penthouse suite at The Monarch,” Marta said with a small nod.