Chapter 5 — The Delivery

Standing on the porch wasn’t a mariachi band or a late guest. It was three people.

In the center stood a tall man in a sharp gray suit, holding a thick, legal-sized manila envelope. To his left, the regional manager of Pristine Maids with a clipboard.

To his right, Chef Maria — who’d slipped out the back five minutes earlier — now standing with a leather folio in her hands.

The living room fell into dead silence. You could hear the ice melting in the cocktail glasses.

The man in gray stepped over the threshold.

“Are you Jason Thomas?” he asked, his voice carrying with practiced authority.