Julian was gone.
At first, I assumed he had gone downstairs for coffee.
Then I noticed the chair beside the door.
My handbag was open.
My wallet lay on the floor.
My phone was missing.
And on the bedside table, beside an empty wineglass, was a small white envelope with my name written across it.
My hands began trembling before I even opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A photograph of me sleeping.
On the back, six words had been written in black ink:
“Now you will do exactly this.”
What do you think Julian wanted from me?
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Beneath the photograph was another sheet of paper.
At first, the words blurred in front of me.
Then I forced myself to read them.
Transfer twenty-five thousand dollars before noon.
