Derek’s POV
The walk back from the driveway felt like walking toward a firing squad. My boots hit the marble steps of the foyer, each thud reminding me of how badly I’d messed up. The glove box had been empty. The burner phone was gone. The thumbprint was useless. Michael hadn’t just found my play; he’d invited me to watch him dismantle it.
I stopped outside the master suite and took a deep breath, forcing my heart to slow down. I needed the mask. If I went in there looking like a beaten man, he’d already won. I adjusted my jacket, checked my earpiece, and pushed the doors open.
The room was different now. The tailor, Martha, was gone. The racks of expensive dresses had been pushed to the side, leaving Rebekkah standing alone on that circular wooden platform. She looked like a statue ma
