The city hummed with life outside the office window. I sat at my desk, a fortress of order amidst chaos. The whiteboard loomed to my left, littered with maps and timelines, red pins marking Alan Kingsley's properties like a blood trail across the boroughs. My laptop hummed faintly, displaying spreadsheets and clippings that painted a damning picture of Kingsley's empire.
"Alan Kingsley doesn't just push boundaries," I said aloud, circling a property in Brooklyn with a red marker. "He shatters them."
Ethan appeared at my side, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. He glanced at the board, eyebrows furrowing.
"You've been glued to this for hours," he said, setting the cup down. "Find anything worth the insomnia?"
I pointed at the circled tenement building. "This one. Kingsley acquired it years ago—key to his rise in real estate. The original owner died suddenly, and the official cause was a heart attack. But the timing is suspicious."
Ethan's eyes darkened. "You think Clara stumbled on something connecting him to that?"
"Not just that," I said, leaning back. "A pattern. The deeper she dug, the more dangerous it became."
William sauntered in, leaning against the doorframe. His casual stance didn't mask the tension in his voice. "Dangerous enough that her dad—or someone he's tangled with—might want her out of the picture?"
I paused, letting the question hang. "Alan Kingsley wouldn't harm his own daughter directly," I said finally. "But his enemies wouldn't hesitate."
Ethan set his coffee down with a deliberate thud. "Then we'd better figure out who's gunning for her. Fast."
---
Naomi sat on the couch in our office, her hands clutching the hem of her sweater. She looked like she wanted to disappear into it. Ethan perched beside her, his voice soft and steady as he coaxed her into speaking. I stood across the room, observing. The way her eyes darted to the door every few seconds told me she wasn't just nervous—she was scared.
"Naomi," I said evenly, my voice cutting through the silence. "Clara trusted you. She told you things she didn't share with anyone else. We need you to help us find her."
Her lips trembled. "She said she found something big," she whispered.
Ethan leaned in slightly. "What kind of something?"
"Documents. Emails. I didn't see them," she said, her voice cracking. "She wouldn't show me. But she said they proved... something about her dad."
I crossed my arms, studying her closely. "Did she tell you who she was meeting that night?"
Naomi shook her head. "No. Just that it was important. She was... scared, but determined. She didn't want to back down."
Her eyes flicked to mine, a fleeting moment of vulnerability. "Do you think she's okay?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I asked, "Did she mention being threatened?"
Her hands stilled, her grip tightening on the fabric. For a moment, I thought she'd deny it, but then she whispered, "She didn't say it outright. But she was always looking over her shoulder. Like someone was watching her."
---
The bar reeked of whiskey and regret. Luke Hernandez slouched at a corner table, a half-empty glass in front of him. His eyes were bloodshot, his shirt rumpled. William slid into the seat across from him with his usual swagger, but there was an edge to his voice as he said, "Rough day, Luke?"
Luke's gaze snapped up, his jaw tightening. "What do you want?"
I leaned against the bar, keeping my distance but watching his every move. William didn't flinch under the artist's glare. "We want to find Clara. You care about her, don't you?"
"Of course I do!" Luke snapped, his voice rising. He slammed his glass down, the sound echoing in the nearly empty room. "I loved her."
William raised an eyebrow. "Funny way of showing it. Screaming at her days before she went missing?"
Luke's hands clenched into fists, but he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he muttered, "She stopped trusting me. Said I was too controlling."
"Sounds like she had a point," William shot back.
I stepped closer, my voice cutting through their tension like a blade. "You're angry, Luke. But not just at Clara. At yourself. You know you screwed up, but this isn't about your ego. It's about her life."
Luke's shoulders sagged. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. "She was onto something big. Said it could ruin her dad."
"What was it?" I asked sharply.
"I don't know," he admitted. "She didn't tell me. But she kept writing in her journals. Everything she found, she put in there."
"Where are they now?"
Luke hesitated, then said, "In her dorm. Bottom drawer of her desk. She always kept them locked."
William straightened, glancing at me. I gave a small nod.
"Thanks, Luke," I said, turning toward the door. "You've been more helpful than you think."
As we left the bar, William chuckled under his breath. "Journals, huh? Feels like we just found the missing piece."
I didn't respond. My mind was already racing ahead, piecing together the fragments of Clara's life.