The next day, Frank parked his sleek new car outside the precinct, instantly drawing everyone's attention. Officers paused mid-conversation, their gazes glued to the dazzling vehicle.
"What the hell, Frank? Whose car is this?" James asked, walking up to inspect the car, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"What do you mean, 'whose'? It's mine," Frank replied smugly, leaning against the car like he owned the world—which, in this moment, he practically did.
"Don't mess with me," James scoffed. "Do you even know how much something like this costs?"
Before Frank could respond, Zoey strolled up from behind, a knowing smirk on her face. "Relax, James. Our friend here is a hidden millionaire. Didn't you hear? He bought a villa worth 6.5 million yesterday."
James froze, his jaw practically hitting the floor. "You're kidding," he said, his tone a mix of shock and disbelief.
"Dead serious," Zoey said, folding her arms.
"Alright, that's enough chit-chat. Let's head inside," Frank said, casually wrapping an arm around Zoey's waist as they started toward the precinct door.
Zoey immediately shrugged off his hand, throwing him a look. "Not here," she said firmly.
"Oh, come on," Frank teased, grinning.
"I said no," Zoey repeated, though there was a faint smirk on her lips as she walked ahead.
James stayed back for a moment, staring at the car and then at Frank as the realization hit him. "Holy crap," he muttered to himself. "Good thing I always treated him well." With that, he shook his head and followed them inside.
At his desk, Frank settled in and began working on the usual paperwork. It didn't take long before boredom started to set in.
'Hey, system,' Frank called out internally. 'Got any new missions? I'm dying of boredom here.'
[What are you so worked up about?] the system replied with a faint chuckle. [No mission is a good thing. Maybe try focusing on your actual job for once.]
"Tsk," Frank clicked his tongue, muttering under his breath. He reluctantly turned his attention back to the pile of forms in front of him.
Just as his patience was wearing thin, the phone on Zoey's desk started ringing. She picked it up with practiced ease.
"Yes, Daeton Police Department," Zoey answered, listening intently. After a brief pause, she nodded. "Understood. We'll be there in a few minutes."
"What's up?" Frank asked, already leaning forward.
"Robbery at OakBridge Bank," Zoey said, grabbing her jacket. "Let's go."
Frank's face lit up with excitement. "Finally, some action!" he said, jumping up to follow her out the door.
Frank and Zoey arrived at the bank, greeted by the manager, a wiry man in his fifties whose pale face betrayed his nerves. He wrung his hands anxiously as he led them inside.
"Thank you for coming so quickly. It's... it's unbelievable. I don't know how they did it," he stammered, his voice trembling.
"What happened?" Frank asked, his sharp eyes sweeping the bank's pristine lobby. Everything looked normal—no signs of forced entry, no chaos.
"It's the locker room," the manager said, motioning for them to follow. "One of our most secure lockers has been robbed, but… well, you'll see."
Frank exchanged a glance with Zoey, who raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. They followed the manager through a series of secure hallways until they reached the heavy metal door of the vault. Two guards stood outside, their expressions grim. One of them gave the manager a tight nod as he punched in a code and scanned his thumbprint.
The door hissed open, revealing a cool, sterile room. Rows of lockers lined the walls, each one locked tight. The manager led them to a locker near the back and pointed at it, his hands shaking slightly.
"This is it. Locker number 112. It belongs to a high-profile client. He came to access it this morning, and everything inside was gone. But as you can see..." He gestured toward the locker. "It's still locked. No damage, no signs of tampering. The main vault is also untouched. It's as if someone just… appeared inside the locker."
Frank crouched in front of the locker, examining it closely. The lock mechanism was intact, the surface pristine, no scratches or dents. He frowned, glancing back at Zoey.
"Security footage?" Zoey asked, cutting straight to the point.
The manager shook his head, his distress deepening. "We've already reviewed it. There's nothing. No one entered the vault during the time frame in question. The cameras didn't pick up anything unusual."
Frank stood, crossing his arms as he took in the room. "What exactly was inside the locker?"
"Valuables, documents, and cash," the manager replied, wiping sweat from his brow. "The client insists the contents are worth millions. This… this could destroy the bank's reputation. Please, you have to help us."
Zoey let out a low whistle, leaning slightly against a nearby locker. "Millions, gone without a trace. That's a new one."
Frank nodded, his mind already sifting through the possibilities. "We'll need to speak to the client and review the footage ourselves. Also, run a full inventory of the vault. Let us know if anything else is missing."
The manager nodded quickly, eager to comply. "Of course. Whatever you need."
Frank looked back at Zoey, who gave him a slight shrug. "Looks like this one's going to be interesting."
"Yeah," Frank muttered, his tone serious. "Too interesting."
****
Despite hours of investigation, Frank and Zoey were at a dead end. The footage revealed nothing. The security system had not been compromised. There were no fingerprints, no DNA, no physical evidence of any kind. The locker had been breached, yet it was still locked tight, as if mocking their efforts.
Over the next week, things only got stranger. Similar cases began to pop up across the city. A jewelry store reported its most expensive pieces missing—the display cases untouched. A high-end art gallery discovered a priceless painting gone, with no signs of a break-in. A private safe in a penthouse apartment was found empty, though the safe's combination hadn't been used.
Frank sat at his desk, flipping through the reports. Each case was more baffling than the last. He rubbed his temples, the beginnings of a headache forming.
"This doesn't make any sense," Zoey said, leaning against the edge of his desk. "It's like the stuff just vanished into thin air."
"Or someone walked through walls to get it," Frank muttered, half-joking. But even as the words left his mouth, a cold unease settled over him. He shook his head. "No. There's got to be a logical explanation."
Zoey raised an eyebrow. "You think someone's got tech advanced enough to pull this off without leaving a trace? Even the best thieves make mistakes."
Frank didn't answer. His gut told him there was something they were missing—something beyond the realm of logic. But he wasn't ready to say it out loud. Not yet.
*****
A few days later, another call came in. This time, it was a high-security storage facility on the outskirts of the city. When Frank and Zoey arrived, the scene was eerily familiar. The stolen goods were worth millions, and once again, there were no signs of forced entry. Frank examined the vault door carefully, running his fingers along its surface.
"What are you thinking?" Zoey asked, watching him closely.
Frank hesitated before replying. "It's like they're walking through solid objects. Phasing through walls, doors, whatever."
Zoey gave him a skeptical look. "You're saying we're dealing with a ghost?"
"Not a ghost," Frank said, standing and dusting off his hands. "But maybe something… else. Something we don't understand."
Zoey frowned but didn't argue. They both knew the pattern was too precise, too impossible to ignore. And deep down, Frank couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.