Chapter 7
Campbell pulled a bottle of wine from the rack.
It looked like garbage. The label was peeling. The glass was covered in dust.
"We're giving this to Lydia?" she asked. "She'll throw it out."
He wiped the neck of the bottle with a cloth. "It's a 1945 Romanée-Conti. She'll know what it is."
She pulled out her phone. She typed the name.
$558,000.
She dropped her phone on the couch.
"Cam! Is this a joke?"
He didn't look up. "It's a prop," he lied, his voice perfectly even. "The bottle is a good replica. I filled it with some decent Cabernet. Just for show."
She exhaled, feigning relief. "Oh. Thank god. Your commitment to this bluff is terrifying." She watched him, cataloging another lie. This man built his life on deception.
"Strategic packaging," he said. "Ready?"
They took the elevator down. The car was different today. A grey Mercedes. Nice, but not a spaceship like the Bugatti she'd heard about on the phone.
The drive to the Hamptons was long. Her stomach twisted into knots.
"Remember," Campbell said. The classical music on the radio was soft. "Tonight, you are untouchable. You are Mrs. Dunlap."
"What if they attack you?" she asked. "Mason is... volatile."
"Let him try."
They arrived at the gates of the Blankenship estate. The iron bars were rusted. The family fortune was rotting, just like the house.
The guard leaned out of the booth. He saw her.
"Look who it is," he sneered. " The mute. And her driver."
Campbell didn't get angry. He picked up his phone. He dialed a number.
"This is Dunlap. Who manages the security contract for this property? Yes. I'm at the gate. Fix it."
Ten seconds later, the guard's phone rang. He answered. His face went white. He looked at Campbell with pure fear.
The gates opened. The guard saluted.
"What did you do?" she asked.
"Customer service complaint," Campbell said.
They drove up the long, winding driveway. The house loomed ahead. It was a gothic monstrosity.
Lydia and Mason were waiting on the steps. They looked like vultures in designer clothes.
Campbell got out. He held the dusty bottle.
Mason's eyes locked onto the wine. He was a gambler. He knew the price of everything. His eyes bulged.
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