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She felt giddy with excitement, stunned at the good fortune that had just fallen into her lap.

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Emilia drove speedily, but steadily, keen to get her hoard home as fast as possible.

She was alert, focused, yet still she couldn’t help stealing a gaze at the dirty holdall now wedged in the passenger footwell.

As soon as she’d returned to her car, she’d locked the doors and torn open the bag.

To her immense surprise, the contents were just as her father had described, two dusty, but reassuringly substantial, gold bars.

Shocked, overwhelmed, Emilia had immediately closed the holdall, fearful that a passer-by might peer inside, clocking her illicit haul, but she hadn’t pulled the zip totally shut and even now she could spot a tell-tale glint of gold.

Fence was an apt word, for this would have to be her first port of call.

Ernesto had given her the address of someone he’d used many times before – Bruce Carley, a man of questionable morals, with an extremely flexible approach to the law.

Emilia was heading there now, her satnav guiding her inexorably towards the darker parts of Eastleigh.

But could she trust this guy? And how would their encounter play out?

She would not stumble blindly into their meet, making sure she knew her escape route and that she had her taser and pepper spray in her bag, but even if this ageing fence was benign, would he not still try to screw her on the price?

She had to be ready for this, summoning her father’s steel, perhaps even using the threat of press exposure or police involvement as a stick to ensure his compliance.

Even if she did escape with the requisite cash, she would still have to be careful, taking a circuitous route home to confuse any future police investigation and wiping the address memory from her satnav.

Emilia was not a seasoned criminal, but she knew caution must be her watchword.

She’d made good time so far, but now her smooth progress stalled, a line of red brake lights in front of her forcing her to come to a gentle stop.

Exhaling slowly, Emilia tried to remain calm, but in truth her nerves were jangling.

Already she’d missed three calls from Louisa, her hostess presumably bemused by her sudden departure.

Had she sensed that the whole visit had been a ruse?

Was she even now in the basement, pulling the boxes away, seeking out the damaged brickwork?

Emilia had no way of knowing and it was certainly possible her father’s ex-lover might divine what had gone down tonight, which meant the sooner the gold was out of Emilia’s hands the better.

But what would she do thereafter? How would she protect, process and disperse over a hundred thousand pounds worth of cash?

There was no way she could keep it at the family home, that would be far too dangerous, but nor could she deposit it in a bank, without provoking awkward questions. Where then could she stash her haul?

Drumming her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, Emilia craned round to try and work out what the cause of the hold-up was.

She could just make out a large red van further down the street whose hazard lights were flashing.

Was there some kind of problem? Had the driver broken down?

Or was he just making a delivery? Emilia sincerely hoped it was the latter, but even so the delay made her nervous and she angled a glance in her rear-view mirror, contemplating a swift three-point turn.

To her dismay, however, there were already several vehicles backed up behind her, ruling out any chance of retreat.

Ahead of her, the queuing motorists were now losing patience.

A couple of them had emerged from their cars and, peering ahead, Emilia could make out an argument breaking out between the van driver and the aggrieved drivers.

What the hell was going on? If he really had broken down, then those behind her would simply have to back up.

Now the van driver was raising his voice, gesturing furiously, but still the cause of the delay remained a mystery.

Cursing loudly, Emilia clicked off her seat belt and threw open the driver’s door.

Emerging, she shut the door firmly, locking the car with the fob and taking a few steps forward, once more craning round the idling vehicles to see what was going on.

The altercation seemed to be heating up, the van owner shoving the nearest driver.

Jesus Christ, what was the issue? If he was making a delivery, he should just get on with it.

If he had broken down, then the others should help him get his vehicle off the road, so they could all get moving.

Angry, Emilia took another few steps forward, but now peace suddenly seemed to break out, the van driver holding up his hands in apology and shamefacedly backing away.

Shaking her head, Emilia turned back, annoyed but relieved that it had all been a fuss over nothing.

Then she heard something. A high-pitched, insistent whine that set her nerves on edge.

What was it? A drone? An animal in distress?

A distant siren? The sound grew louder and now Emilia realized what it was – the squeal of a moped’s engine.

Without knowing why, Emilia suddenly felt anxious and exposed, picking up her pace as she hurried back to her Corsa.

To her horror, however, she now saw that someone else had got there first, a moped with two men on it pulling up sharply next to her car.

‘Hey you, get away from there …’

The two men were peering through the car windows, as if searching for something.

Desperate, Emilia sprinted towards them, but the men had now found what they were looking for, swinging a hammer at the passenger window.

The glass exploded noisily, the car alarm shrieking into life, but the thief did not hesitate, reaching down through the broken window to retrieve the holdall.

Effortlessly, he pulled it free from the car, slinging it onto his shoulder.

Emilia only had seconds to act now so she threw herself across the bonnet of the car, grasping at the holdall strap.

The thieves, however, were just ahead of her, the driver ripping back the throttle before she could make contact.

With a shrill squeal, the bike shot forwards, leaving Emilia clutching thin air.

‘Hey, come back here …’

But already the bike was thirty feet away, driving down the narrow corridor of space next to the queuing cars.

‘You bastards, come back …’

Emilia felt herself choke, tears pricking her eyes.

All her hard work, the risks she’d taken had been for nothing, her role in this scam that of a patsy.

She had believed her dad, had trusted her dad, but it was crystal clear that the whole scheme had been a ruse from start to finish, a carefully orchestrated trap.

One she had walked straight into.