Maya grabbed her duffel bag from beneath her narrow cot. She began tossing her few clothes inside—jeans, t-shirts, a worn sweater. She had twelve minutes left.
As she zipped her makeup bag, a memory snapped into focus.
Two weeks ago. Eleanor had been sitting in the sunroom, staring out at the rose garden. Maya had been brushing the old woman's silver hair.
"They take everything eventually, Maya," Eleanor had murmured, her eyes distant. "The power, the money, the dignity. But I kept the music box. The blue one. My father gave it to me. Veronica thinks it’s broken, but it’s just stubborn. It only opens when you force it."
Maya stopped packing.
The blue music box. It sat on the vanity in Eleanor's private suite on the third floor.
Maya looked at the brass key in her hand. Don't let her find the key.
If Veronica wanted Eleanor gone, the key was the only thing the old woman cared about saving. Maya couldn't just walk out the front door and leave Eleanor to the mercy of a daughter who was willing to strike her in public.
Maya checked her watch. Nine minutes.
She slipped the brass key into the deep pocket of her grey uniform dress. She zipped her duffel bag, threw it over her shoulder, and opened her door.
The security guard was still at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall, checking his phone.
"I forgot my phone charger in the third-floor linen closet," Maya lied, her voice steady. "I need it."
The guard rolled his eyes. "You've got five minutes, kid. If I have to come looking for you, I'm throwing you out the window."
Maya hurried up the stairs and bypassed the kitchen, slipping into the back service elevator. She rode it up to the third floor, her pulse thudding heavily in her ears. The doors parted to a silent, carpeted hallway. All the guests were downstairs. The air up here was thick with the scent of expensive floor wax and lavender.
She moved quickly, her rubber-soled shoes silent, until she reached the heavy oak double doors of Eleanor’s suite. She turned the knob. It was unlocked.
Maya slipped inside, closing the door until it clicked softly. The room was dark, illuminated only by the moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains. She crossed the room to the antique mahogany vanity.
There, sitting perfectly centered on the lace runner, was a heavy, enamel-painted blue music box.
Maya set her bag down and picked it up. It felt strangely heavy. She searched the sides with her thumbs and found the tiny brass keyhole in the back. Her hands shook as she pulled the brass key from her pocket. She slid it into the lock and turned it.
It didn't click. It wouldn't budge.
It’s just stubborn. It only opens when you force it.
Maya took a deep breath, gripped the base of the box, and forced the key hard to the right.
A loud, metallic snap echoed in the quiet room. The lid popped open an inch.
No music played.