The Next Day

  Kasra stood in the lobby, his fingers drumming to an invisible rhythm against his thigh as he waited for Katherine to arrive. Before long, he spotted her walking toward him. Her gait seemed awkward, her shoulders tense, and her complexion a shade paler than usual. Something was off.

  “Kate, you okay?” he asked, stepping forward, concern furrowing his brow.

  She glanced up, looking a little uneasy. “Uh… I’m fine, Kasra. I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” Her words came out rushed, the faint blush creeping up her cheeks enough to rouse suspicion.

  Ever perceptive, he instinctively remembered something from several nights before—his first intimate experience with Lara—and guessed the cause of her discomfort. He decided not to press on. “Alright,” he said lightly, gesturing forward. “Let’s get down to business.”

  The two made their way to the president’s office. Upon entering, the secretary greeted them warmly. “Good afternoon, Chief Shahi. President Shahi’s expecting you. Please go ahead.”

  Kasra knocked lightly before twisting the handle. The door swung open to reveal a tall figure, his back to them, silhouetted against the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows. One hand in his pocket, he stood slightly slouched, staring at the tarmac below.

  Sensing their presence, he turned, raising a finger as he spoke into his phone. “Sorry, Mom, I’ve got a meeting. Talk later.” With a swift touch, he ended the call.

  Kasra smirked. “Aunt Kyra bugging you about something?”

  Shan exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “Bro, my mom’s driving me crazy! Another blind date! It’s endless!”

  Kasra chuckled. “I feel you, man.” After a beat, his mood sobered. “But enough about you. Something’s come up.”

  He stepped aside, revealing Katherine. “Shan, this is Detective Kavanagh. Kate, meet my cousin, Shan. He’s the President of Jetset Aviation.”

  Katherine shook Shan’s hand, firm but brief. He quickly masked his frustration with a polite mien. “How can I help you, Detective?”

  “About a week ago,” Katherine began, “your cousin Sana was ambushed after returning from the airport. We’re conducting an investigation and would appreciate your cooperation. We’re working on a few leads and want to confirm no one from Jetset Aviation was involved.”

  Shan’s face drained of color. “What!? Ambushed? Was she hurt? Kas, why didn’t we hear about this?” His voice cracked with disbelief.

  Kasra steadied him, recounting the events in detail. He paused before adding, “Shan, keep this quiet. Don’t tell anyone else, especially our grandparents. We’ll break it to them when you come over for Thanksgiving. By then, Princess should be in better shape.”

  Shan, still shaken, nodded slowly. “Right. I won’t breathe a word.”

  Turning back to Katherine, his tone hardened. “Detective, give me a couple of days to gather the information. I’ll get back to you.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Thank you, Mr. Shahi. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem,” Shan replied. “It’s the least I can do.”

  Katherine handed him her business card. “Here’s my contact information. If anything comes to mind, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

  “I’ll be in touch as soon as I have everything,” Shan assured, slipping the card into his pocket.

  ……

  Stratford House Place

  The clock struck seven, and right on cue, the doorbell chimed, pulling the man from his thoughts. He moved lazily toward the door despite anticipating the arrival. Opening it, he saw Wendy standing there, lips curled into a practiced smile. “Bonsoir, Monsieur C,” she greeted, her French a tad stiff.

  C, with a lewd grin, stepped aside. “Bonsoir, Madame.”

  As the door snapped shut, she took in the opulent Versace-themed living room: gold and crimson accents, plush seating, and lavish décor. A bottle of 2015 Burgundy sat on the coffee table beside a crystal decanter, flanked by two Riedel Pinot Noir glasses. A charcuterie platter featured carefully arranged bites of cantaloupe wrapped in prosciutto, Matsutake mushrooms, and pan-seared foie gras, served on toasted baguettes.

  With a flick of his chin to the wine, C said, “Pour us some, would you?”

  Wendy moved to uncork the bottle, her movements graceful. As she did, C leaned against the armrest. “Why the sudden visit? Miss me that much?”

  Her stomach twisted, but she kept her composure. “Monsieur C, my boss hasn’t been to work since she returned from New York. Yesterday, a new VP stepped in to take over her duties. What’s going on? Did something happen to her?”

  C’s grin faltered. “What!? You’re telling me she hasn’t shown up?” He leaned forward, irritation flaring. “You didn’t think to tell me sooner?”

  “I followed your orders,” Wendy shot back. “No contact after the ambush. And since she’s been missing for days, I thought you’d succeeded. President Gilani mentioned she was unwell but didn’t give details. We only got word of this new VP yesterday.”

  C’s eyes narrowed as realization dawned. “Her security team arrived before I could transfer the files. She’s probably got a GPS tracker in her. Either she’s sick, or they’re protecting her.” He tilted his head. “That new VP must be part of their circle of trust. Get me whatever information you can on him.”

  “I only know what’s in the press release,” Wendy admitted.

  C grabbed his phone, muttering rapidly in French the moment the line connected. He was speaking too fast for her to follow, but his urgency was clear. When he finished, his tone had turned cold. “Focus on the new VP. We need to make inroads soon. Once we find the opportunity, we’ll strike.”

  “Yes, Monsieur C,” Wendy replied, her voice steady despite the knot in her stomach.

  Pleased with her initiative, C added, “I’ll transfer a little something to the card. Treat yourself.”

  Wendy smirked faintly, though it faded when his gaze darkened. “You know how you can get more, don’t you?”

  Her heart dropped. With a forced nod, she braced herself for what was to come.

  ……

  Meanwhile, outside The Cliffs, an Uber pulled up to the guardhouse. The guard’s tone was curt. “No entry without verification.”

  Behind the Uber, a line of luxury cars waited: an Audi R8 Performance Quattro, Range Rover Sport, Lamborghini Urus Performante, and a Maserati MC20, each sleek and imposing.

  Denied entry, the passenger stepped out. Just as the Uber pulled away, the Audi edged forward. The window rolled down, and a man called, “Hello, who are you here for?”

  The woman pivoted, her heart lifting in recognition. “Kimi! It’s you! Kate told me to come, but I couldn’t get through to her.”

  The man in the Audi raised an eyebrow, a faint curve tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Hop in,” he chirped, and she slid into the passenger seat. “Thanks, Kimi.”

  As the gates swung open, the line of cars followed into the estate. Once parked, they made their way toward the grand entrance, but the woman couldn’t shake her unease. “Kimi, Kate said it was an emergency. Do you know what it’s about?”

  The man hesitated, then admitted, “Miss, I’m Kimi’s twin, Kayan.”

  Her eyes widened. “Twin?” she repeated, trying to process the revelation.

  Before she could dwell on it, Kayan gave a reassuring smile. “He’s probably on his way. I’ll ring him.”

  Just as he reached for his phone, Ami caught up with them. “Son, who’s this?” she inquired warmly.

  Kayan explained casually, “She’s Kate’s friend. She mistook me for Kimi.”

  Ami extended her hand graciously. “Hello, I’m Ami, Kimi’s mother. How shall I address you?”

  The woman blinked, emerald eyes brightening. “Hello, ma’am, I’m Carys Jones.”