Mark: Amara, take a breath. Sit down on the bench.
Amara: I can't breathe, Mr. Mark... I can't catch my breath.
Mark: Here, drink some water. I've got you.
Mark handed her a glass from the side console, his hand steady as he guided her to the plush armchair near the foyer fireplace.
Amara's fingers were covered in blue ink from the ripped identification documents. She held the torn cover of her British passport against her chest, her voice shaking violently.
Amara: She ripped my transit clearance, Mark. The border officers won't let me board the flight without it.
Mark: I will call my family lawyer right now. We will get an emergency travel clearance from the embassy before three o'clock.
Amara: My mother died at six this morning in a London hospital. I was supposed to be on the eleven o'clock flight out of JFK.
Mark: Why didn't Chloe tell me you called her last night?
Amara: I begged her at midnight, Mark. I told her the doctor said my mother had hours left.
Mark: And what did she say to you?
Amara: She said a maid doesn't take leave during wedding week. She said if I stepped out of this house, she would fire me and report my visa status to immigration.
Mark clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white against his trousers. He looked toward the open double doors where Chloe's sports car had just sped away down the gravel driveway.
Mark: She threatened your legal status while your mother was dying?
Amara: I tried to pack quietly while she was getting her makeup done. But she caught me near the door and snatched my purse.
Mark: She took your purse?
Amara: She dumped everything on the floor and started tearing the pages one by one. She said if she couldn't have her perfect wedding photos, I couldn't have my family.
Mark: My God. She is a monster.
Amara: I've worked for her family for three years, Mark. I cleaned her mother's estate, I managed her schedule, I never complained once.
Mark: You don't have to explain anything to me, Amara. You have been a saint to this family.
Amara: What are you going to do about the ceremony? The catering trucks are already parked down the road.
Mark: The ceremony is canceled. There is no wedding, Amara.
Amara: Her mother will destroy you in the papers, Mark. The Sterling family controls half the real estate market in this city.
Mark: Let them try. I don't care about their real estate or their money.
Mark pulled out his smartphone, dialing a primary contact from his security contacts list.
Mark: David? I need the private transport van at the main house immediately. We have an international airport transport with high priority.
David: On our way, Captain. Five minutes out.
Mark: Amara, look at me. You are going to get to London, and you are going to lay your mother to rest.
Amara: Thank you, Mark... thank you so much.
Mark: Don't thank me yet. Before you step into that van, I need you to tell me the truth about the safe in Chloe's dressing room.
Amara froze, her dark eyes widening in hesitation as she wiped a fresh tear from her cheek.
Amara: The safe...?
Mark: I saw the financial ledger she tried to hide last week. You know what's inside, don't you?
Amara: If I tell you... she will destroy my life, Mark.
Mark: She can't touch you anymore. I promise you on my life.