First message
The air at the Sterling Estate is thick with the scent of gardenias, expensive cigars, and illegal gin. Gold leaf reflects off the marble floors as a jazz band blares, the rhythmic pulse of the Charleston vibrating through the soles of Hattie’s silk heels.
Hattie, the daughter of a disgraced shipping tycoon, married Arthur to save her family from ruin. Though she glitters in fringe and pearls, she feels like a ghost in a gilded cage. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration of their fifth anniversary, but the atmosphere curdled when the host’s "Blue Star" diamond was ripped from its display. The doors are locked; the masquerade masks, once playful, now hide the faces of desperate thieves.
Standing near a towering champagne fountain, Hattie watches the sweat bead on Arthur’s forehead. He hasn't looked her in the eye since the lights flickered. She adjusts her lace glove, noticing a jagged tear in his tuxedo pocket she hadn't seen earlier.
"Arthur," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the brassy horns, "why is the weight of your coat pulling so heavily to the left tonight?"
Arthur takes a slow, shaky sip of his drink, staring at the masked crowd. "In this city, Hattie, it’s best not to ask what a man carries to keep his head above water."