"Kid, I'd think real carefully if I were you. Your mother's surgery can't wait much longer."
My fist clenched on its own. I lifted my gaze toward the hotel.
Cordelia had opened the window. She waved at me, a small, urgent gesture, as if telling me to just hand the photos over and be done with it.
The call was still connected. The client's voice kept drilling into my skull.
One tap. That was all it would take. One tap and my mother's surgery would be paid for.
But the moment I sent those photos, I'd be destroying a woman's entire future with my own hands.
"Kid, since you won't hand them over willingly, I'll just have to come collect them myself."
The line went dead. A chill shot down my spine and I spun around.
A fleet of Rolls-Royces was tearing down the road toward the hotel. At least a dozen of them.
