The message arrived at 3:17 AM, a whisper in the dark.
Judith Tucker stirred from half-sleep when her phone vibrated on the nightstand. The soft blue glow illuminated the room, casting crisp shadows on the ceiling. She squinted at the screen, the message pulsing like a silent alarm.
Anonymous: "You're looking in the wrong places. If you really want to find out who Thomas Chan is, follow the money. 43.7859° N, 79.3454° W. 10 PM."
Judith sat up, the sheets pooling at her waist. The name alone was enough to make her heart spike. Thomas Chan. Billionaire. Recluse. Untouchable.
And yet, someone was giving her a tip.
Her fingers hovered over the screen. It was likely a trap. Hell, most likely it was. But she'd been attempting to uncover something—anything—at all on Thomas Chan for six months now, and she had nothing but dead ends. Witnesses who wouldn't talk. Documents that mysteriously disappeared. A source who'd gotten burned.
Judith slowly exhaled. No risk, no reward.
She got up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her laptop was already open on her desk, papers scattered around it. On her wall, the elements of her investigation sprawled across a map of the city, names, and relationships linked by red string.
At the center of it all was Thomas Chan.
She spawned a new window, entering the coordinates of the message. They pointed to a warehouse district on the outskirts of town. Isolated. Remote. A perfect place for a deal—or a murder.
Judith considered this carefully, chewing her lip.
She reached for her recorder and notebook. If she was going to go, she would go prepared.
10:02 PM – The Warehouse District.
Judith parked three blocks away, keeping to the shadows as she walked to the coordinates. The air smelled of wet asphalt and rusted metal, the kind of place where things were left behind.
A single light hummed above the entrance to the warehouse, making long shadows across the corrugated metal walls.
No one around.
Her breathing was steady, but her heart wasn't.
She moved stealthily ahead, gripping the strap of her bag. Inside, her recorder was already turned on.
A scrape of gravel behind her.
Judith spun, reaching for the pocket knife in her coat, but a hand closed over her wrist—firm, swift, in command.
She barely registered the figure in the darkness before a voice, low and evenly threatening, spoke in her ear.
"You shouldn't be here."
Judith recoiled, wrenching her hand free as she stumbled back a step.
The man before her was tall, dressed in dark colors, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind. He did not look to be some ordinary thug—his pose was too relaxed, too confident.
A crawling fear unfurled in her stomach.
"Who sent you?" she demanded, attempting to insert steel into her voice.
The man ignored the question, tipping his head to one side as if he were taking her measure.
"Turn around, Miss Tucker. Walk away. This is your last warning."
Something in the manner in which he spoke—the confidence of his tone—made the air in her lungs tighten.
Judith was not stupid. She had a finely tuned sense of danger, an instinct that had kept her alive through years of chasing men more powerful than they had any right to be.
And yet…She didn't budge.
"You know my name," she said instead.
The man's mouth smiled. "Everyone does."
That should have frightened her. It did. But Judith had been underestimated for far too long to let it show.
"You work for him, don't you?" she pressed. "Thomas Chan."
No response.
The silence was thick and heavy.
Then, a slight change in his posture.
"Leave," he said again. "Before you don't have the choice."
Judith's heart thudded hard against her ribs.
And yet, her instincts told her something.
If they wanted her dead, she would be dead already.
So this wasn't a warning. It was a test.
Slowly, deliberately, she took a step forward.
"Tell your boss if he has something to say to me—he can do it himself."
The man exhaled a quiet chuckle.
"Oh, Miss Tucker." He shook his head, almost amused. "You have no idea what you're asking for."
Behind him, a shiny black car pulled up.
The back door opened, and then he stepped out.
Thomas Chan.
Judith's breath caught before she could help it.
Even in the dim light, he was impossible to overlook.
Black suit perfectly tailored. White shirt starched, open at the neck. Dark hair styled perfectly, though she suspected nothing about him was unintentional.
His presence commanded. The very air around him seemed to shift, molding to his control.
He didn't rush. He didn't have to.
His gaze met hers, dark and unreadable.
Judith held her ground, even as every instinct screamed at her to run.
A slow, satisfied smirk curled at his lips.
"Miss Tucker," he said smoothly. "I've been expecting you."
Inside the Car:
The leather seat was too soft beneath her. Something expensively cologned and subtly intoxicating scented the air.
Judith's fists stayed clenched in her lap as Thomas Chan slid into the seat next to her, closing the door. Silence fell.
She resented that he wasn't looking at her. Resented that she had the uneasy feeling she'd already lost at whatever game they were going to play.
Finally, he turned his head, studying her as if she were something fascinating.
"You've been persistent," he said at last.
Judith forced a smirk. "You've been hiding."
That earned her a slow, lazy chuckle.
"Hiding?" he mused. "You mistake discretion for fear, Miss Tucker."
Her spine stiffened. She was being mocked.
"You think this is a joke?" she said coolly.
Thomas reached into his pocket and pulled out something small.
He held it up between two fingers.
Judith's tape recorder.
The one that had been inside her purse.
Her breath caught.
"You can be a good reporter," he said, his voice low and with a touch of amusement. "But you're not nearly careful enough."
The car bumped along, and she swayed slightly. Thomas was looking at her as if expecting her reaction.
Instead, she smiled.
"Maybe I wanted you to find it," she said to him.
His eyebrows lifted, barely.
And then something unexpected happened.
He laughed.
It was subtle. Smooth. But true.
"Oh, Miss Tucker." He leaned forward, hardly, just enough to allow her to feel the weight of his presence. "You are going to be so much fun."
A slow, queasy feeling moved through her stomach.
She felt a sinking feeling—this had never been her game to play.
The car pulled away from the warehouse. The recorder was still clutched in Thomas's hand, the little red light blinking.
He had her evidence, and now he had her.