The house was perched high on the cliffs of Monterey Bay with a white exterior and a cedar roof. It featured long bands of glass facing west and a terrace wide enough for grand outdoor dinners.
There were six bedrooms and a kitchen made of pale stone with custom brass fixtures. The staircase curved gently upward in a way that looked expensive without appearing to try too hard.
Every dollar used to purchase that home belonged to me, which meant more than the five million dollar price tag. I was the daughter of a woman named Geneva who clipped coupons and managed a strict budget for every holiday.
Geneva taught me that money was not a spectacle but a form of stored discipline and freedom. She used to say that wealth was essentially freedom wearing practical shoes.
On that first evening, I sat on the terrace with a glass of wine and enjoyed the silence. I had posted a single photo of the water earlier that day without providing any address or personal details.
Then the phone rang and the name Gillian appeared on the screen. She never called late unless she wanted to catch someone when they were tired and unguarded.