Lipstick camera

(recorded Scarlett burning evidence in the nursery)

The scent of quantum-encrypted breast milk wafts from the nursery on Manhattan's Upper East Side, and Violette's Christian Louboutin red-bottomed nursing underwear flows with nanoscale data streams. She fixes her makeup on a smart diaper table, YSL square tube lipstick swirls out of a miniature camera, and the mirror reflects the embryo freezing protocol Scarlett is burning - the sparks leaping from the ashes are actually Bitcoin transaction codes updated in real time.

"Breastfeeding women are perfect for arms smuggling." Scarlett bursts through the bulletproof glass door, breast pumps under Valentino nightgowns connected to darknet servers, "capable of transmitting 3 terabytes of money-laundering records per ounce of breast milk." The baby girl in her arms has blinking pupils and iris patterns that perfectly match the laser-protected mesh of the Federal Reserve's underground vaults.

Violette pushes the temperature-control button on her nursing bra, and the Van Cleef & Arpels four-leaf clover patch at her left areola begins quantum entanglement: "Honey, the parabola of your daughter's spit-up last night corresponds exactly to the curve of Ethan's short yen trade." Breastmilk suddenly boils in the bottle, surfacing a hologram of Scarlett tampering with a genetic test report in the maternity ward.

The surveillance feed from the nursery suddenly jumps and flashes at 3:00 a.m. Violette points the lipstick camera at the quantum safe, and the mirror refracts a mirror image of Scarlett typing in the combination with the platinum bottle brush. The moment the safe popped open, the nanobots on the tip of her tongue leapt into the air and attached themselves to the ashes of the incinerator-the vaporizing remnants of the very same documents that had been notarized on the blockchain for Ethan's murder of her parents twenty years ago.

"Mommy..." The baby girl suddenly emits a mechanical synthesized voice, and the Cartier baby bracelet on her wrist projects a live Darknet feed: three hundred arms dealers are bidding on a quantum virus capable of crippling New York's power grid, with the starting bid being Scarlette's stockpile of eggs. violette's nursing underwear suddenly tightens, and the Tiffany diamond patches ringing her nipples sound an alarm - -Lucas' AI predicts a surprise attack with an 87.3% probability.

Violette is drawing Fibonacci spirals on bulletproof glass with her breast milk when Scarlett kicks in the door." It's time to upgrade your cameras." She rips off her baby girl's Vacheron Constantin heart rate monitor and the wires plug into the brain-computer interface on the back of her neck, "My daughter's heartbeat fluctuates just enough to cover the uploading of the evidence you stole."

Suddenly, the quantum safe bursts into blue light. Particles of ash from the incinerator reorganize in the air, revealing a complete chart of the offshore trust fund.Scarlett's Van Cleef & Arpels necklace suddenly tightens, and the cyanide capsule in the pendant pops open automatically, "You thought I only burned copies?" She laughs and swallows the poison, "The originals were long ago edited into your daughter's genetic sequence!"

Violette's pupils contracted rapidly as the nursing underwear automatically ejected a frozen breast milk bomb. As liquid nitrogen fumes fill the room, she crashes through the floor-to-ceiling windows and leaps for the fire escape. The cries of the baby girl in her arms suddenly shifted to high-frequency sound waves, the bulletproof glass in all the Manhattan banks exploded in response, and the gold in the vaults began to melt into blockchain code.

"Mommy's playing hide and seek." She kissed her baby girl's burning forehead and bandaged her shot left arm with a blood-stained Gucci diaper. The darknet live feed suddenly switches, and Lucas's brain-computer interface is compiling the baby girl's brainwaves into an algorithm of doom - a countdown showing nine minutes and thirty seconds left until the global stock market crashes, which happens to be the recommended brewing time for baby formula.

As the Secret Service surrounds the apartment, Violette is using her last drop of breast milk to activate the quantum teleporter in her lipstick, and Scarlett's charred body plummets from great heights, the ashes clutched in her hands actually reconfiguring themselves into a federal grand jury subpoena in the middle of a rainstorm. The baby girl suddenly bites through her nipple, and the blood spray-paints the Swiss bank code on the fire escape iron gate-the exact number that was the exact latitude and longitude of her mother's crash twenty years ago.

"Sleep baby," Violette says as she inserts the quantum chip into the baby girl's fontanel, "your nightmare is just beginning to profit." With Wall Street sirens blaring, she hummed a blockchain lullaby and disappeared into the crypto rain. Behind her, the burning nursery is casting the evidence of the crime into the most expensive NFT in human history.