I went to a designer handbag repair shop to pick up my alaя daughter’s bag. Instead of handing it over, the shopkeeper grabbed my wrist and whispered, “Get the kids out of town tonight.” I froze. Then he opened a hidden compartment inside the lining… and my heart stopped.
I walked into a designer handbag repair shop to retrieve my daughter’s bag. But what I received wasn’t a neatly restored bag. Instead, the shopkeeper grabbed my wrist, his voice trembling as he whispered, “Get the kids out of town tonight. Don’t ask why.” When he opened a secret compartment beneath the lining and revealed what was hidden inside, my heart stopped.
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I pushed open Tony’s repair shop door just after4 to 5 that Tuesday. The bell jingled above my head. Tony Marchetti had been mending my family’s leather goods for 15 years. I was there to collect Tamson’s burgundy Hermas bag while she was in Seattle on business.
Spring rain had soaked through my coat. The shop smelled like old leather and polish, warm and comforting. But something stopped me cold. Tony stood behind the counter, his face pale. His warm smile was gone. His dark eyes darted toward the door, then back to me, then to the street outside. Sweat beaded along his hairline despite the cool weather.
“Tony, are you all right?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached beneath the counter and pulled out the burgundy bag. But he didn’t hand it over. His fingers gripped the leather so tightly his knuckles went white. Then he moved around the counter toward me faster than I’d ever seen him move. His hand clamped around my wrist.
“Juliet,” he said, his voice low and shaking. You need to get Grace and Liam out of Fairview tonight. Don’t ask questions. Just go.
My stomach dropped. This was desperation.
Tony, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?
He glanced toward the front window again, checking the empty sidewalk. Then he leaned closer, his grip tightening until it hurt.
When I was repairing the lining inside your daughter’s bag, I found something hidden in the seam.
He released my wrist and pulled out a small plastic evidence bag. My hands started to tremble before I even looked inside. The first thing I saw was a bank transfer receipt. $350,000. The signature at the bottom read S. Ivonov. I had never heard that name before.
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