The previous week, Brittany had presented a power of attorney disguised as ordinary estate documents. I declined to sign.
Her friendliness vanished afterward.
Now, peering through barely open eyelids, I watched her search my suitcase. She tucked a small black pouch into its deepest compartment, carefully closed the zippers, and photographed the bag.
Then she left.
I waited until her footsteps faded.
My heart raced, but my hands stayed steady. Twenty-eight years investigating fraud had taught me how people exploited panic to make their victims careless.
I retrieved my phone and checked the bedroom security camera.
Three days earlier, after learning someone had entered my room without permission, I’d installed a small camera overlooking the doorway and luggage rack. It had recorded Brittany entering, searching my belongings, and part of her whispered phone conversation.
I left the pouch untouched.
Instead, I contacted my former colleague Daniel Brooks, who now worked in airport security investigations.
