Chapter 6
I walked down to the executive garage.
The Cullinan was parked in the CEO’s reserved spot.
Madison was there, directing two junior assistants as they swarmed the car.
“Throw those floor mats out. They’re hideous,” she barked. “And that charm hanging from the mirror? Toss it. It looks like a kindergarten project. Check the trunk too. Clear out any personal boxes. We don’t want her private clutter in here.”
The “hideous” mats were custom-ordered leather worth eight hundred dollars.
The charm was a lucky tassel my daughter had made for me by hand.
The boxes in the trunk contained luxury gift sets I had personally paid for for our upcoming client gala.
I stood behind a concrete pillar and watched them like a hawk observing mice in a maze.
Madison had a trash bag in one hand and a clipboard in the other.
“Those boxes too,” she said. “Nate wants the entire interior professionally detailed by tomorrow morning. We can’t have it smelling like cheap perfume or whatever she sprays in there.”
One of the junior assistants, a nervous kid named Leo who had started two weeks earlier, hesitated as he picked up one of the velvet-lined boxes.
“Uh, Madison, these look like the reserve gifts for the Sterling account.”
“Clear it out, Leo. If it was in her possession, it’s compromised. Box it up and leave it by the dumpsters. Maintenance will handle it.”
I slipped my phone from my pocket, opened the camera, and hit record.
I made sure to capture the license plate, Madison’s face, and Leo holding the gift boxes I had personally bought for eight thousand dollars.
When Madison reached for the rearview mirror to yank down my daughter’s crooked little red yarn star, I finally stepped out from the shadows.
“I’ll take that.”
My voice echoed through the concrete garage.
All three of them jumped.
Madison spun around, guilt flashing across her face for a fraction of a second before arrogance settled back over it like cheap foundation.
“Diana. Shouldn’t you be packing your desk or figuring out how to pay back the money you stole?”
I ignored her.
I walked to the open driver’s side door, reached in, and gently unhooked the yarn star from the mirror. Then I slipped it into my blazer pocket.
“Those floor mats,” I said, pointing to the pile of leather tossed onto the oily concrete, “are stained now. Add them to the list of things you’re throwing away. But I’ll be taking the Sterling client gifts. Unless you want to explain to Nate why you threw away eight grand in scotch.”
Madison crossed her arms.
“Take them. We’re replacing everything anyway. Just don’t scratch the paint on your way out. The company needs this car in pristine condition for Mr. Sterling.”
I turned and looked at the gleaming black body of the Cullinan.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of scratching it,” I said softly.
Then I picked up the boxes and walked away.