The Mask Comes Off

The express elevator opened directly into an apartment that smelled of fresh paint and cold marble. Half the artwork had been stripped from the hallway walls, leaving pale rectangles against the plaster.

Mabel Laurent sat alone at a long oak dining table, wearing a gray sweatshirt and no jewelry. Her fingers twisted around a paper coffee cup, leaving deep dent marks in the cardboard.

“I sold the Rothko on Tuesday,” Mabel said, her voice flat as Ayla and Matteo walked in. “The auction house took fifteen percent just to expedite the wire transfer.”

Matteo stopped two paces behind Ayla, his hands in his coat pockets, eyes scanning the bare living room. He remained silent, letting Ayla take the lead.

Ayla pulled out a chair and sat down across the bare table. “You sent three urgent texts, Mabel. We’re here.”

“Because Jean is going to destroy what’s left of my family,” Mabel said. She looked up, her eyes rimmed red. “My father died six million dollars in debt. Jean found the private ledgers before the board did. He promised that if I secured the Laurent Foundation’s backing for his expansion, he’d mask our shortfalls.”

“So you mocked my four-hundred-dollar dress to keep your seat at his table,” Ayla said.

Mabel’s breath hitched. She clutched her collarbones, her nails pressing white into her skin. “I was terrified. You walked in so composed, and I was drowning in collection notices. I thought if I acted like I owned the room, nobody would ask to see my father’s estate filings.”

“An expensive gown doesn’t confer worth, Mabel,” Ayla said quietly. “It just hides the seams.”

Mabel flinched, staring down at the raw oak grain. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a small black thumb drive, and slid it across the table until it tapped against Ayla’s wrist.

“Jean called me at three this morning,” Mabel whispered. “He didn’t realize I record every line through my lawyer’s office now. Listen to track two. He offered to wipe out my father’s remaining personal loans if I filed a sworn affidavit claiming you tried to blackmail him for half a million dollars.”

Ayla picked up the drive, its cold metal heavy in her palm. “He wants me in handcuffs before the weekend.”

“He doesn’t just want you arrested,” Mabel said, leaning forward. “He told me if I didn’t sign the statement by noon today, he’d release the real estate records himself.”