Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN LARKIN DIDN’T RECOGNIZE
Larkin stopped three feet in front of Penelope and said nothing.
That frightened her more than a compliment would have.
The ballroom glittered behind him—crystal chandeliers, black tuxedos, diamonds, expensive smiles—and yet his attention remained fixed on her as though every other person in the Continental Hotel had disappeared.
Finally, his eyes dropped briefly to her dress.
Then the steel-tipped heels.
Then back to her face.
“Woods?”
Penelope lifted one eyebrow.
“You invited me.”
Thomas appeared beside his cousin with a grin that died almost immediately.
“Jesus.”
Penelope smiled.
“Good evening, Thomas.”
He looked her over shamelessly.
“Where have you been hiding that?”
“At work.”
Several men nearby laughed.
Not at Penelope.
At Thomas.
His face tightened.
For the first time since she had known him, Penelope enjoyed making him uncomfortable.
Larkin offered his arm.
“Walk with me.”
She hesitated only a second before taking it.
The room noticed.
Penelope felt every pair of eyes follow them as Larkin guided her through clusters of powerful men whose names she recognized from invoices, shell corporations, and encrypted spreadsheets.
She knew which one controlled docks in Newark.
Which one owned seventeen restaurants that somehow never reported losses.
Which one purchased industrial cleaning chemicals every second Tuesday.
Being invisible had taught Penelope far more than being beautiful ever could.
A silver-haired man near the bar raised his glass.
“Larkin. You finally brought someone interesting.”
“This is Penelope Woods.”
The man’s smile disappeared.
Not slowly.
Instantly.
Penelope saw it.
So did Larkin.
The stranger looked at her face again.
“Woods?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother’s name?”
Penelope’s spine stiffened.
“My mother is dead.”
The man stared.
Then he whispered:
“Eleanor.”
Penelope forgot the ballroom.
Forgot Larkin’s arm.
Forgot her dress.
Her mother’s name had been Eleanor Woods.
She died when Penelope was thirteen.
At least, that was what Penelope had been told.
The silver-haired man set down his drink.
“You have her eyes.”
Penelope stepped closer.
“How did you know my mother?”
Larkin’s hand tightened around her arm.
“Penelope.”
“No.”
She pulled free.
The man glanced at Larkin.
“You didn’t tell her?”
Something cold moved through Penelope.
“Tell me what?”
Thomas appeared again.
This time he wasn’t smiling.
The silver-haired man looked genuinely uncomfortable.
“Your mother kept books for Larkin’s father.”
Penelope’s heart stopped.
“My mother was a tax accountant in Queens.”
“No.”
The man shook his head.
“She was the best forensic accountant in New York.”
Penelope slowly turned toward Larkin.
His expression told her everything before he spoke.
He knew.
He had always known.
“You hired me because of her.”
Larkin did not deny it.
Across the ballroom, the orchestra continued playing.
Penelope’s pulse thundered.
Three years of coffee.
Spreadsheets.
Invisible clothes.
Every ordinary day suddenly felt staged.
Then the silver-haired man leaned toward her and said something worse.
“Your mother didn’t die in an accident.”
Penelope stared at him.
“What?”
He looked toward Larkin.
May you like
“She disappeared after she stole a ledger from his father.”
And according to him, that ledger was worth enough to destroy every powerful man in the room.
