Through the window, I saw the lights of the mansion flicker. The “smart” heating system, which I paid for through a corporate tech-testing account, began to cycle down. The high-speed fiber-optic internet—a custom line I’d installed for my own remote work—cut out instantly.
Vanessa’s personal card, which was funded through a “consulting fee” my firm paid her for doing absolutely nothing, was the first to go. I saw her shadow move frantically past the window, her phone held high as if searching for a signal that was no longer there.
Suddenly, the front gates of the estate—the heavy, wrought-iron gates I’d paid to automate—began to groan shut, locking into “Security Mode.”
A heavy thud sounded at the end of the driveway. A black SUV with “Asset Recovery & Logistics” printed on the side pulled up behind my car. A man in a suit stepped out, holding a clipboard. He looked at the mansion, then at the silver Porsche parked in the driveway, and began to write. He was ten minutes early.
Chapter 4: The House of Cards
The chaos didn’t take long to erupt.