Killing Sarai

52

On the way to the mansion, Victor reminds me one last time, “Never get out of character. No matter what happens, or how uncomfortable things might become for you. Don’t break character.”

“I understand,” I say. “No matter what, I won’t break character. I promise.”

That look he just gave me, although indistinct, tells me that he has his doubts.

We arrive at Arthur Hamburg’s estate at seven-thirty and are met by a tall electronic iron gate and a security guard. Victor holds our invitations out the car window to him. The guard inspects them first then walks over to a panel set in the side of a small rock security station and puts a phone to his ear. I hear him faintly through the opened window describing us and then describing the invitations. A few seconds later he hangs up and gives the invitations back to Victor.

He slips back inside his station and soon after the iron gate breaks apart allowing us access onto the enormous property. After going over the cobblestone driveway the length of at least two acres, we park our car in front of the mansion next to a plethora of equally expensive cars.

We get out and Victor loops his arm through mine and we walk toward the house. We approach the giant front double-doors, passing two marble pillars on either side and then underneath a scaling balcony. We’re greeted at the door by another armed security guard and this is when I notice all of the other security guards posted about the property. I remember what Victor told me about them and I start to feel a little uneasy. But after our invitations are inspected again and we walk inside, the uneasiness fades away, replaced by awe. I have been to many wealthy houses before, but this one is the most stunning by far with tall ceilings that rise four floors in the center of the mansion, opening up into a massive circular skylight. Beautiful Greek statues are displayed on the ground floor underneath it. Whenever someone walks by, the sound of their shoes tapping gently upon the marble echoes as though I’m inside a museum instead of a privately-owned California mansion. I hear what sounds like a small waterfall and then notice to my right, underneath a fifteen-foot archway is a beautiful white-rock fountain situated in the center of that room.

Before I’m caught ogling at this place the way a girl who has never seen such wealth in her life would, I shift my expression to look mostly inattentive, narrowing my eyes gently as if a part of me is bored. And when someone does catch my eye, I pick and choose whom to nod subtly in recognition to and who to ignore. Mostly, I ignore the women, or gaze upon them briefly with disapproving eyes.

Victor walks with me through the enormous room and we are then greeted by a man, though this man is not Arthur Hamburg. He is much younger with sandy-brown hair and brown eyes.

“Welcome to the Hamburg estate,” he says. He reaches out a hand and Victor shakes it. “I am Vince Shaw, Mr. Hamburg’s assistant.”

“I am Victor Faust and this is my lady, Izabel Seyfried.”

I hold my hand out to the man, palm-down and he takes it into his fingers and leans over kissing the top.

I wonder if that’s really Victor’s last name. He doesn’t seem worried about using his real first name…unless ‘Victor’ isn’t his real first name, either…

I can’t think about that right now.

‘Vince’ takes a glass of champagne from a tray when a server walks up carrying it. The server presents the tray to us next.

“Please, have a glass,” Vince says and Victor takes one from the tray and gives it to me before getting one for himself.

“I apologize,” Vince says, “but I was curious as to where you obtained your invite.”