The Trap is Set

The chill of the city night was a familiar caress against Henry’s skin, but tonight it carried an edge of anticipation, a prickle of adrenaline that had nothing to do with the biting wind. Elias Thorne’s words, delivered in hushed tones in the smoky anonymity of a forgotten pub, still echoed in his mind. *“She keeps everything. Everything that matters. In a vault. Under her house.”*

Seraphina Dubois. The name itself was a polished obsidian, smooth and impenetrable, yet radiating a dangerous allure. Thorne had painted a picture of her opulence, her carefully constructed empire built on a foundation of secrets and silenced whispers. And within that empire, hidden away, was the proof Henry craved – the tangible link between Dubois and his parents’ demise.

The address Thorne had scrawled on a napkin, now crumpled in Henry’s pocket, led him to the edge of the city’s wealthiest district. Here, the streetlights seemed to gleam with a more expensive luminescence, illuminating manicured lawns and imposing facades that spoke of generations of privilege. Dubois’s residence was no exception. It stood like a darkened monarch, a sprawling testament to wealth, its windows like vacant eyes staring out into the night.