That night, the Manhattan sky seemed to mirror the tension suffocating Scarlett. A black Harrington Group vehicle glided through city streets slick with the remnants of rain, heading toward an elite suburban enclave where the old Harrington estate stood firm with its arrogant Gothic architecture.
Inside the car, Scarlett squeezed her cold fingers. Tucked within the folds of her dress was a silver brooch given to her by Jason. The device felt heavy, not because of its physical mass, but because of the weight of the responsibility and risk she carried.
"Two hundred meters, Miss. Frequency stable. If you hear two beeps from that brooch, it means Mr. Julian is currently restraining himself from ramming our tactical vehicle through the front gate," Jason's voice echoed in her mind from before she departed.
