The tears evaporated from Chloe’s bloodshot eyes like water on a hot skillet. The trembling victim was gone, replaced by something made of absolute ice.
Marcus sneered, clutching the gray blanket tighter against his chest. “You’re insane. Call security!” he barked at the guest holding the champagne.
The guest calmly set his crystal flute on a table. “I don’t think so, Marcus.” He reached into his tuxedo jacket, pulled out a Glock, and locked the heavy mahogany doors. The ‘shocked’ woman beside him simultaneously dropped her act, yanking the heavy velvet curtains closed over the arched windows.
Marcus stepped back, the color draining from his face. “What is this?”
“I told you,” Chloe said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “The truth.”
She stepped forward and gripped the edge of the gray blanket. Marcus tried to violently pull away, but the older woman in the navy dress seized his arm with a grip like a steel vice. With one swift motion, Chloe ripped the blanket away.
There was no baby.
Cradled in Marcus’s arms was a hyper-realistic silicone doll, its hollowed chest cavity packed with a blinking GPS tracker and a massive black hard drive.
Marcus gasped, nearly dropping it. “Where is Leo?!”
“My son is at 30,000 feet, halfway to Geneva with my sister,” Chloe smiled, a vicious, triumphant thing. “But that drive you’ve been aggressively cradling for twenty minutes? That’s every deleted ledger from your illegal offshore accounts. The money you framed me for stealing so you could take sole custody.”
Marcus stared at the blinking red light, horrified. “You… you set this up.”
“And that,” Chloe pointed to the floral centerpieces where tiny camera lenses glinted in the chandelier light, “is broadcasting live to the FBI.”
Sirens began to howl in the distance. Chloe smoothed out her floral dress. “You were right about one thing, Marcus. I’ll never hold my son in this house again. Because this house is a crime scene.”