The Red Envelope

Sophie pointed a small, smudged finger toward the double-sided vanity mirror that separated Dante’s private bathroom from the adjoining walk-in wardrobe.

Dante turned his head slowly, looking at the heavy oak-framed glass that he had assumed was nothing more than a fixture of the estate's sprawling architecture.

""In the wall,"" Sophie whispered, her eyes wide with the gravity of a seasoned investigator. ""Right behind the corner where the mirror meets the tile.""

Dante stood up, his knees making a faint pop in the sudden quiet of the room.

He didn't say a word.

He walked past Sophie, keeping his footsteps light on the imported Italian tile, and approached the vanity.

He reached out, his fingers tracing the gilded molding along the edge of the heavy wooden frame.

For fourteen months, Vanessa had smiled at him across this exact vanity.

She had left earrings on the marble counter, kept her favorite lotion in the mirrored cabinet, and played the part of the devoted, untouchable girlfriend of Chicago’s most guarded man.

Dante applied pressure to the lower right corner of the frame.

A tiny, almost imperceptible click echoed in the bathroom.

The heavy mirror swung outward on a concealed hydraulic hinge, revealing a shallow, recessed wall cavity that had been built into the brickwork long before Dante ever bought the estate.

Inside the dark nook sat a sleek, black metallic box with a digital keypad—and resting right beside it was a single, square white envelope bearing no return address.