Mrs. Perez, who runs her life by the clock, was nearly thirty minutes late today. “Sienna, I am so sorry, dinner is not ready, please don’t be mad at me…” she stammered, wringing her hands. “But truly, there was nothing I could do. I waited downstairs for over half an hour, and no one would buzz me in. I called Mr. Grant, but he didn’t answer.” I paused while taking off my Italian leather pumps, a frown pulling at my brow. “Mrs. Perez, I explicitly told Rhys to give you the key fob, didn’t I?” Mrs. Perez looked completely bewildered. “The key fob? Mr. Grant never gave me a card, dear.” “Never gave it to you?” “No, ma’am.” She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, her voice cautious. “For the last month, I’ve been either sneaking in after another resident, or I’d call Mr. Grant and he’d unlock the door remotely.” “Today, he just wouldn’t answer the phone. I was desperate downstairs…” That was strange. I distinctly remembered checking the digital lock’s access log a few weeks ago and seeing regular swipe entries from that spare key fob. 1 The apartment—a sprawling, ultra-modern penthouse—was one I had purchased outright before the wedding. My job requires a brutal travel schedule, so I hired Mrs. Perez to manage dinner and cleaning. At the time, I handed the spare key fob directly to Rhys, my husband. “Mrs. Perez is coming for her trial run tomorrow,” I’d instructed him. “Give this to her so she has easy access.” He took the small, plastic card, his smile warm and attentive. “Relax, honey, I’ve got it. It’s handled.” But today, the card was not in Mrs. Perez’s possession. I logged into the apartment’s smart-lock app. The screen confirmed my initial thought: in the past month, the spare key fob had been used to enter the building seventeen times. Rhys and I both used the fingerprint scanner, which meant those seventeen entries were made by the person holding that card. Who was it? As I considered the digital trail, the front door opened. Rhys was home. “Honey, Mrs. Perez was late today because she said she couldn’t get in,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual. “Didn’t I ask you a month ago to give her the key fob?” Rhys, who was unknotting his tie, froze. His forced chuckle was immediate and grating. “Oh… that thing.” “I was so slammed at work, I must have completely forgotten. I probably just shoved it in a drawer somewhere. I’ll look for it, I promise.” “It’s fine if you can’t find it,” I said, setting down the magazine I wasn’t reading. My voice was calm, almost flat. “I’ll just call building management tomorrow to report it lost and get a replacement. It’s too inconvenient for Mrs. Perez.” “Don’t!” Rhys spun around, the word sharp and loud, his voice several decibels higher than normal. When he saw my puzzled expression, he immediately softened his posture, walking over to wrap an arm around my shoulders. “My point is, why waste the money on a replacement fee? It’s probably only a few hundred dollars, but still.” “It’s definitely in the apartment somewhere. I’ll go through everything this weekend, I’ll find it.” He gently turned me to face the living room. “You’re working so hard, Sienna. Don’t worry your beautiful head about something so small.” He paused, running a thumb over my cheekbone. “You look stressed, actually. You’re getting that anxious look again. You used to have such a soft, healthy glow.” “Really?” “Totally. You look so much better when you’re relaxed.” The slight flattery, combined with the mild distraction, was enough to make me drop the subject of the key fob. But the knot of unease remained, tight and low in my gut. That night, after he’d gone to shower, I picked up his phone. The password hadn’t changed: my birthday. His text messages were clean; no suspicious threads. Even his social media was set to the three-day viewing limit. I checked his Amazon orders, scrolling through a list of toiletries and household supplies. Everything looked normal. Until I clicked on the “Deleted Items” folder. Hidden among the recovered orders, I saw a purchase from a week ago: an emerald-cut tennis necklace. The shipping address was his office, and the recipient was listed as: Eliza Soto.
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