My voice wasn’t loud. In the cavernous echoes of the service kitchen, it carried the weight of a falling anvil.
Jennifer froze mid-sip, her wine glass hovering inches from her lips. She blinked, her eyes darting toward the doorway as if she couldn’t quite process the sound. Slowly, she turned around, her expression shifting from annoyance to absolute, unadulterated terror as her gaze locked onto mine.
Emma dropped the sponge. It hit the bottom of the industrial sink with a wet, heavy thud. Her head snapped up, her wide, disbelieving eyes meeting mine across the room. She looked as though she were staring at a ghost.
“Ethan…?” she breathed, her voice cracking on my name. “No… no, you’re supposed to be in New York. You said your meetings weren’t finished until Tuesday…”
I walked slowly past the industrial ovens, keeping my eyes locked on Jennifer, who had gone completely pale, the color draining from her face so fast she looked like she might faint.
“I finished my meetings early,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm as I stopped just a few feet away from my sister. I reached out and gently plucked the expensive glass of wine right out of Jennifer’s hand. She didn’t protest; she was completely paralyzed. I looked down at the dark, rich liquid, then slowly poured it out over the edge of the stainless-steel counter, letting it splash uselessly down the drain.
“Ethan!” Jennifer finally found her voice, though it hitched nervously in her throat. “W-what are you doing? How did you get in here? We didn’t know you were—why didn’t anyone tell us the gate security was letting people through?”
“The security guard didn’t let a stranger in, Jennifer,” I replied, turning my gaze from the spilled wine to look her dead in the eye. “He let the owner of the house in. The person whose name is on the deed. The person whose credit cards have been funding this endless circus outside.”…
