The light from the monitors' screens reflected in Josiane's eyes as she browsed in a private tab of the browser. The smile on her face only grew wider as the tabs multiplied.
First, she opened the websites of the city's most luxurious spas, selecting the most expensive packages for relaxing massages, immersion baths, and facial treatments. Then she moved on to e-commerce sites for imported perfumes, designer clothes, and the most exclusive beauty salons in the area. Without hesitation, she filled out the booking forms one by one, scheduling all the services for the following week. After all, with two hundred thousand dollars in her pocket, she was going to live like a queen.
Her euphoria was so intense that the space in that HQ room felt too small for her excitement. Josiane got up from her chair and started doing little dance steps right there, between the desks. With her heart racing, she looked at the clock on the wall, mentally counting each minute that separated her from the payment time. Excited, she did a high jump, celebrating her life-changing moment, but when she landed, her foot hit the corner of a desk hard.
An empty ceramic mug that was on the edge wobbled and went straight to the floor, shattering into several pieces.
Josiane froze for a second. She looked at the floor, stared at the shards, and instead of worrying, burst into a loud, carefree laugh. To her, the broken mug was a trivial detail compared to the fortune she was about to receive. She kept dancing and amusing herself alone for a few more minutes, until exhaustion made her stop. Jumping with less intensity, she took a deep breath and sat down in the chair to catch her breath.
After resting for a brief moment, she stood up, carefully gathered the glass shards from the floor, threw everything in the trash bin next to the desk, and sat back down in front of the computer in the evidence department, trying to hide her anxiety.
Meanwhile, in the silence of the apartment, Michael had just gotten out of a cold shower. Water droplets still ran down his shoulders as he dried himself with precise movements. He walked to the wardrobe and started dressing casually: he put on a dress shirt with the buttons neatly aligned, added a sober blazer over it, and slipped into pants in an olive-green shade, balanced between light and dark. On his feet, he wore a pair of slip-on shoes — practical, no laces, similar to traditional Chinese-style shoes.
He headed to the bedroom and approached the desk where the computer was on. The clock in the bottom corner of the screen read exactly 14:21.
Michael sat in the chair, crossed his arms for a moment, and thought. He decided he would go out to eat something before moving forward with his plan. He opened the browser and started looking for options nearby, dismissing conventional establishments until he found a specific place: a small, peculiar restaurant that operated out of the front of a residential house, with a discreet and reserved atmosphere.
Satisfied with the choice, he closed the browser and turned off the monitor. He stood up, walked to the living room, crossed the impeccably organized space, and went through the front door. He stepped out into the hallway, turned the key in the lock to make sure the apartment was properly secured, and started down the stairs toward the street.