The whiteboard loomed in front of me, its surface now alive with notes, red scrawls crisscrossing in sharp, deliberate lines. Clara Kingsley's photo was pinned in the center, her smile dissonant against the stark details encircling it. My hand hovered near the board, marker poised as my mind cycled through the facts.
"Alan Kingsley's desperation is real," I said, my voice steady, "but so is his control. He's hiding something—whether it's about Clara or the ransom."
William let out a snort from the window, tossing a dart. It missed the bullseye by a mile, clattering against the wooden frame. He ran a hand through his perfectly groomed hair, frustration curling at the corners of his mouth. "This guy screams guilty. Admit it, Rio. The only reason we're even listening to him is the paycheck."
Ethan, cross-legged on the couch, casually crunched on a granola bar. He tapped something into his tablet before glancing up, his tone measured. "Maybe. But Clara didn't kidnap herself. If she's in trouble, we can't just walk away."
I capped the marker, letting the silence stretch as I turned to face them. William was perched on the arm of the couch now, spinning a dart between his fingers. Ethan leaned forward slightly, his usually relaxed demeanor edged with unease.
"Great," William said, breaking the quiet. "A secretive billionaire dragging us into his mess. What could possibly go wrong?"
Ethan nudged him with an elbow, a small grin playing on his lips. "Lighten up, Will. If anyone can dig through the layers, it's Rio."
I adjusted my tie, pacing slowly. "Clara isn't a paycheck. She's a person. If we don't take this case seriously, she may not have time left."
Ethan rubbed his temples, nodding reluctantly. "Fair. But if Kingsley tries to pull any strings, I'm out."
William chuckled, tossing the dart again—this time landing just shy of the bullseye. "Relax. Rio's got this. Right, boss?"
I didn't answer immediately. My pen was already moving, sketching out connections in my notebook. Why would Clara run from him? The question burned into the page like a live wire.
Ethan set his tablet aside, his brow furrowed as he watched Rio pace. The guy was brilliant—no question—but sometimes his silences felt heavier than the cases they took.
"So, what's the angle?" Ethan asked, breaking the spell.
Rio didn't look up. "Start with her university. Clara was studying at Columbia, right? Someone there might've seen something. Check her dorm, her friends, her professors."
William leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed. "And what about the email? No proof of life, no real demands beyond the blueprints. This could be leverage, or it could be Kingsley playing us."
Ethan shrugged. "Either way, we're chasing breadcrumbs. Might as well follow the trail before it goes cold."
William gave a mock bow. "Spoken like a true optimist."
Ethan ignored him, grabbing his tablet and pulling up a map of Columbia's campus. "If she's got skeletons on her dad, someone on campus might know. College kids gossip like it's a full-time job."
Rio finally stopped pacing, his gaze sharp. "Exactly. William, head to the tech lab. Get into her phone records, emails—anything Kingsley hasn't given us. Ethan, start with the dorms. I'll handle her professors."
William smirked, straightening. "Breaking into the digital world? My specialty. Try not to miss me too much."
Ethan rolled his eyes, already gathering his things. "Just don't flirt with the campus IT staff. We don't need another lecture about professionalism."
By the time the sun had dipped below the skyline, I was at Clara's university, blending into the evening crowd of students. My suit drew a few curious looks, but I ignored them. The humanities building loomed ahead, its arched windows glowing faintly in the dim light.
Professor Langston's office was tucked at the end of a narrow hallway. The man himself was hunched over a desk piled with papers, his salt-and-pepper hair sticking out at odd angles. He looked up as I knocked.
"Can I help you?" he asked, his tone clipped but not unfriendly.
I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. "I'm investigating the disappearance of Clara Kingsley. I understand she's one of your students."
His expression faltered—a flicker of something guarded crossing his face. "Clara? I... I haven't seen her in days. What's this about?"
"That's what I'm trying to determine," I said evenly. "Did she seem... troubled? Angry? Anything unusual in her behavior recently?"
Langston hesitated, fiddling with his pen. "She was bright. Sharp, even. But she'd been asking questions lately—about ethics in business, the real estate industry. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now…"
"Now you're wondering if those questions got her into trouble."
He nodded, his expression grim.
I thanked him, stepping back into the hallway, my mind racing. Clara hadn't just stumbled into danger—she'd been digging for it. The why still hung in the air like a phantom.
As I headed back toward the car, my phone buzzed. It was William.
"Got something," he said without preamble. "Clara's email was wiped clean, but I found a trace of a message she sent before she vanished. It was flagged, encrypted, and sent to someone named J.S."
I gripped the wheel tighter, my jaw setting. "J.S.?"
"Yeah," William said. "And get this—whoever it is? They're based in New York, too."