Page 31 of The San Marco Heist

We shook our heads and she left, closing the conference room door on her way out.

Scarlett placed her bag on the table and fanned her hands out in front of herself. “I want something reminiscent of old English manor houses. Stone and columns and lots of tall windows across the front. Box hedges.”

“Indoor pool,” I muttered, not looking up. The dark web proposal had provided enough information that we could access public satellite images of the house. It also included a few notes about special features. “The weather isn’t predictable enough here for outdoor exclusively.”

“But it has to be close enough to amenities. Not isolated out in the sticks like a real manor house, but in a community with like-minded neighbors.”

“Nearby golf course would be good.”

Scarlett turned to me. “Honey…”

I glanced up and caught her lips tightening. That was theShut upsign. “I love it when you take charge, honey muffin.”

“He has an annoyingly large car collection, so something that allows him to show them off is probably in the cards, too.” The proposal had mentioned a small showroom for vehicles, so hopefully that would get us closer to our target.

Bruce hummed aloud, clicking keys and swiping a finger on his mouse pad. “Not to be crass, but what’s your budget?”

“Thirty to forty million, but if you have something that makes me extra happy, he’ll go higher.”

I nodded absently.

“You’re a lucky woman.” He paused while Scarlett made a noise of assent.

I sensed his eyes lingering on me and looked up, only to catch him quickly averting his gaze. Was my focus on the phone bothering him? He knew I was the one with the money so wanted to cater to me? Or—my, my. The architect preferred men. Scarlett’s lacy top wouldn’t accomplish anything here, unless he batted for both teams.

Bruce stood and crossed to the television. He returned with a small USB device, plugged it into his computer, and his local display lit up on the wall. “I have a few ideas, but the easiest would be to show you some homes we’ve designed that may fit the bill.”

“Brilliant!” Scarlett clapped her hands as she swiveled toward the monitor with Bruce, but she must have realized the same thing I already did. There was only one USB slot in that laptop. If Bruce was using it to broadcast to the television, it was off the table for us. The SD card was still in play and would be less conspicuous if we could get close enough.

Brie said in my ear, “Will, we need to install something on their phones that can piggyback off a Bluetooth signal instead of using drives.”

“After the drone’s ready?” said Will.

“That drone’s never going to be—”

I cleared my throat to silence them so I could pay attention to the room.

“Sorry,” whispered Brie.

The architect cycled through images of homes, large and larger. Bricks and stones of all shades covered them, from red and rectangular to grays and blues which resembled giant river stones. Bruce would recite some undoubtedly rehearsed notes about each and move on to the next.

Scarlett’s excitement waned after the sixthNo. “What’s that triangular thing called? Over the front of the entry?”

“A pediment?” he asked.

“Yes! A pediment! I want one of those, too. And I want it white, so it’s reminiscent of a Greek temple.” She was leading him by the nose. If this process took much longer, she’d end up giving him the address. Wedidhave the right architect, didn’t we?

“One… minute…” Bruce clicked his tongue and squinted at his laptop, tapping the mouse pad over and over. “Here it is. This might be more to your—”

“Honey!” Scarlett spun in her chair to swat my knee. “That’s what I want.”

I shifted my hand with the phone so it was on the conference table, pointing toward the television. Brie had remote access to everything on that phone, so she could grab images from the camera.

“I like it, sugar butt.” I smiled at my fake wife, who returned the gesture with such warmth I would have thought it was genuine, had I not been a victim of her frosty reality. In case Brie hadn’t flipped on the camera to watch yet, I said, “Do you have blueprints?”

“All of our designs are bespoke, Mr. Stone.” He flipped to an image of a grand central staircase in an entry hall oozing with white-and-gold marble. “But I have some photos of the interior which might help illustrate how exceptional the ceilings and windows are. Plus, it will—”

Scarlett swiveled her chair to watch the images, knocking her coffee cup into her lap. She shot up, waving her hands in a panic. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

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