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The gate is designed to intimidate. It’s tall, reinforced wrought-iron with thick bars topped with wicked looking points. Two armed guards in matching uniforms watch our approach. Raul eases to a stop as one of the guards approaches, his glare sharp and assessing.

“Identification,” he says.

Helena hands over her ID, a flawless forgery bearing her assumed name: Mrs. Van Zant. The guard studies it, scans it then nods.

“Welcome, Mrs. Van Zant. You may proceed, ma’am.”

As Raul drives through the gate, I lean over.

“That fake ID…you pull that out of thin air?”

“I’m a witch, Ray,” she murmurs, barely moving her lips. “I could’ve set them on fire if I wanted to.” She grimaces. “Remind me never to do this again. This much luxury is… obscene.”

Raul snorts. “This is your plan, Helena. The widow of a diamond merchant doesn’t roll up in a rusted-out pickup. Gotta sell the fantasy.”

She sighs like someone drowning in silk. “Yes. Let’s get this over with.”

A butler opens the door, dressed in tailored black, his smile carved from politeness.

“Good evening, Mrs. Van Zant. Mr. Conley is expecting you. Please, follow me.”

Stepping into the mansion feels like being swallowed by excess. Everywhere there is polished wood, marble, and deliberately curated art. It’s a sickening display of materialism over humanity. It feels as if the entire space is designed to make you feel somehow less.

“Thank you,” Helena says, soft but clipped. Every word lands with rehearsed precision.

She walks with her head held high, but I see the tension coiling in her spine. This isn’t her world. She doesn’t like being watched, and here, every one of the dozens of paintings feels like a pair of eyes.

“Try to relax,” I whisper, falling into step beside her. “You look like you’re walking into a courtroom.”

“I feel like I’m walking onto a stage naked,” she mutters.

The butler leads us to a wide staircase. A four-foot-tall Buddha squats at the base of the stairs, silent and serene. I want to knock its smug head off. The walls are decorated with oil paintings that probably cost more than my entire neighborhood. At the top heleads us down a long hallway. Every six feet there is another statue—silver, bronze, and ivory.

At last we reach a double set of mahogany doors. The butler knocks, waits for a moment, then opens the doors and motions for us to enter. Helena leads the way with Raul and me on her flanks.

“Mrs. Van Zant!” Jason Conley stands behind a heavy oak desk. He has a wide, perfect smile and is dressed in a suit that is clearly custom tailored. “Welcome to my humble home. It’s a real pleasure.”

Helena glides forward extending her delicate hand. Her smile is flawless—sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Conley.”

“Please, have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the high-backed chair across from his desk. He doesn’t even glance at Raul or me. We’re invisible—just the help, not worth noticing “How’s your stay been? Enjoying New York?”

“Of course,” she replies, voice warm and cultured. “New York is like a second home. I’ve visited many times.”

He chuckles. “A charmer, I see. Drink? You? Your boys?”

“No, thank you,” Helena replies, her voice cutting cool. “My men don’t drink on the job. Now—shall we get to the matter at hand?”

“Direct. I like that,” he says, leaning his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers. “Very well, allow me to be direct as well.” Something flickers in his eyes, and the million-dollar smile vanishes like smoke. “Who are you?”

I stiffen, eye darting to Raul. He’s watching, but not acting, and I get it. Let it play out before we act. Trust Helena who is all cool calm. She leans forward, matching Conley.

“Excuse me?” she asks, sounding surprised.

“There is no diamond trader named Van Zant. Not in North Africa, not anywhere.”

“Yes,” Helena says, voice flat. “Easily explained, you see I am Dutch.”