POV: Iris Hartwell
The hardware store cashier didn't ask questions when she purchased the lockpick set.
Iris paid in cash, deliberately avoiding credit card trail. The tools were simple, tension wrench, pick rake, nothing that screamed criminal intent. She'd researched which ones worked best on residential locks. The penthouse had quality locks, but quality locks weren't impenetrable. They just required patience.
She had nothing but patience now.
Back in the penthouse, she waited until Julian left for his morning meeting. Then she moved through his private spaces with methodical precision. The locked drawer in his desk came open in under three minutes. Inside: financial records she'd already seen, business licenses, nothing incriminating. The locked cabinet in his office yielded similar results,mundane documentation of legitimate holdings.
But there was something behind the cabinet. A space. A false back.
