Page 14 of Gunnar

The room itself is surprisingly personal, less staged than the rest of the house. The sheets on the king-sized bed are rumpled, and there is a pile of well-worn novels on her nightstand. I am left wondering how long it’s been since she had a good night’s sleep.

After crossing the room, I inspect the balcony doors. Much like downstairs, the locks are inadequate—cheap contractor-grade, easily picked or forced. The alarm contacts are entry-level as well, magnetic switches that any skilled intruder could bypass. A dangerous combination, considering the balcony could be reached with a ladder or climbed from the garden with minimal effort.

When I explain that, she groans, pure frustration rattling from deep in her chest. “I spent eighteen million dollars on this place.”

“Congratulations.”

“I feel like there should be less criticism involved in that statement.” She points around the room, at the view and the space she clearly loves. “I feel like eighteen million dollars should have bought me some peace of mind.”

“Eighteen million dollars bought you excellent scenery,” I correct, turning from the balcony doors. “It bought you square footage, natural light, and probably excellent resale value. It did not buy you security. Those are different products, sold by different people, with very different priorities.”

We head downstairs, and things only get worse. For her and my peace of mind. I stop beside the kitchen island, my hand resting on the marble where the vase sat. “How many household employees?”

“Seven.”

“Full-time?”

“Mostly. Some part-time. Sarah is full-time. There’s a housekeeper every other day, a gardener, a pool serviceman who comes twice a week, a personal trainer who⁠—”

“Everyone gets re-vetted.” I nod, cutting off the list.

Her eyebrows shoot upward. “What?”

“Every employee. Background checks, reference verification, financial screening, and social media analysis. Everyone with access to this property, keys, and access codes gets verified by our team.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it, then opens it again, struggling with the words. “I don’t like that.”

“Good.”

“What?”

I lean against the island and cross my arms over my chest. “Security isn’t supposed to feel convenient. It’s not supposed to be comfortable. It’s supposed to keep you alive. And sometimes that means doing things you don’t like, accepting restrictions you’d rather ignore, and suspecting people you’d prefer to trust.”

She glares at me, and I can see the war happening behind her eyes, the battle between her desire for normalcy and her need for safety.

I continue, gentler but no less firm, “Every employee gets re-vetted. Starting today.”

Her jaw tightens, the muscle ticking. “They’ll hate that.”

“I don’t care.”

“That’s becoming a theme.”

“It should.” I hold her gaze, willing her to understand. “Your safety matters more than their feelings. More than your convenience or preferences. You wanted our protection; this is how we provide it.”

The rest of the team arrives shortly after midday, announced by Sarah’s voice drifting from the foyer. Damon first, his assessment thorough and methodical, as always. Then Jagger, his energy chaotic but his eye sharp, noticing things I missed, confirming things I suspected. Within thirty minutes, every concern I identified has been independently confirmed, each vulnerability noted, and all flaws re-cataloged. It’s professionally reassuring for me, but terrible for Devyn.

We gather in the living room, and she sits across from us. Her posture is defensive and closed, her arms folded across her body and a scowl on her face as if she’s pre-upset. She looks like she’s attending a meeting specifically designed to ruin her day. Which is somewhat accurate, though our intentions aren’t malicious.

I glance at the notes typed on the tablet in my lap. “These are the immediate protocol changes.” Her eyes close, and she sucks in a deep breath like she’s bracing for impact. “First, as we discussed, every employee is being re-vetted, with background checks performed by our team.”

She lets out a soft, yet annoyed, sigh.

“Second, we’ll be implementing access logs for all vendors, deliveries, maintenance personnel, and contractors. Everyone will sign in and out, ensuring everyone is accounted for.”

A slightly louder sigh billows from her, accompanied by a shift in her posture.

“Third. No spontaneous outings.”