Trevor woke as the sun flooded his bedroom. It was only 9:00 AM, late for his usual routine, but far too early for the day’s main event: the meeting with Mr. Franco. He lingered in bed, replaying the previous night in his head. It had been a good night, hadn’t it? After the ceremony, he and Alisa had headed to the bar for drinks before returning to the booth Report Man had reserved. They spent the rest of the night playing cards with their friends, and everyone seemed to be in high spirits. Later, after they got back home, Alisa even mentioned that one of her friends, Donna, who was also from her department, was really into Spion. It got Trevor thinking—maybe he could ask Alisa out for dinner tonight after the meeting? Or maybe tomorrow? He even wondered if he could pull off a double date.
He pulled up his messages and typed: “Hi, do you have time tonight for dinner at the Dressrious Salon? I’m a Premium member; I can book the best booth.” He hesitated, then deleted the last sentence before hitting send.
He had only received the Premium membership as a gift from Mr. Dressrious for his recent help, and he didn’t want to sound like he was flaunting his status. He remembered how, back in high school, Alisa had despised the aristocracy and anyone with unearned privilege. Coming from a working-class family whose parents sacrificed everything for her education, she believed that hard work and merit were the true spirit of the Fairylanders. Trevor suspected that was why they had stayed friends—they shared a similar background. But after he stumbled upon the secret that changed his life and entered the inner circle of Bella and Regina, he drifted further away from her world.
Alisa’s reply came quickly. Trevor read it with a knot of nerves in his stomach. “Sorry, working overtime today and tomorrow to make sure you have enough seafood next year—you know what I mean,” she ended with a smile emoji. “Maybe Sunday?”
“My sister is back on Sunday. Family dinner,” Trevor replied.
“After next Wednesday, I’ll have plenty of time. Let’s arrange something then.”
“Deal.”
Well, his first attempt at a date was a wash, but he had a meeting to prepare for. Lady News had assured the team that her lawyer friend would review any NDAs, so he turned his focus to the investigation. He spent the next few hours scouring the web—including the dark sites he knew how to navigate—searching for anything on Connor Edward Franco.
After hours of relentless digging, fueled by a bowl of muesli, a boiled egg, and two strong cups of coffee, he finally found something useful. An anonymous forum post claimed that before Franco served in the Neverlands Army, he had been a member of the Lost Boys—the rebel group labeled as terrorists by the government. He’d had a stepbrother in the same unit. But after a suspicious fire killed his father and stepmother, his brother and several Lost Boys were arrested, and Franco suddenly emerged as an officer in the official Army. To the rebels, he was the ultimate traitor.
It was certainly a dark secret, but was it enough? Even if the rumors were true, being a former rebel wasn’t strictly illegal, nor was it a stick to beat him with in a court of law. The Lost Boys might want him dead for his betrayal, but so far, no one had attempted an assassination, only burglary and blackmail. And this story didn’t feel like blackmail material; it felt like a grudge. What other leads was this history hiding?
Trevor kept these questions to himself as he traveled to Franco’s mansion with Style and the team that afternoon. He didn’t share what he’d discovered yet; he knew he needed to dig deeper before showing his hand.
The mansion was a masterpiece of modern design, hidden on a tree-covered hillside. When they arrived, Franco was swimming, so they were shown to a pool house that was significantly larger than Trevor’s entire apartment. As they waited, servants presented fine teas and gourmet desserts.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I couldn’t resist a few laps after flying back from a tedious meeting this morning,” Franco said, appearing in a silk robe. He was flanked by a bodyguard. Though he looked his age, he moved with the energy of a man twenty years younger.
Style introduced the team. After the usual pleasantries and Franco’s boastful tour of his heated pool, they got down to business.
“Frankly,” Franco began, “I don’t think this is worth investigating. I’m a wealthy man; burglars consider hitting my home a badge of honor. As for the blackmail, it’s no threat to me. But I’m in a good mood since my daughter’s wedding, and if someone wants to make an enemy of me, I’m happy to play along.”
“We’ll make sure your enemies pay the price,” Lady News said smoothly, sipping her tea. “A lovely Assam, by the way. It reminds me of my time at Buckingham.”
“You’re a connoisseur,” Franco beamed. “It’s the same blend served to the Royals.” He gestured to an assistant, who brought over a stack of files. “Before we begin, I’ll need you to sign these NDAs. Standard protection for my family’s privacy.”
Lady News glanced at the papers. “Could you send digital versions? If my lawyer approves, we’ll sign immediately.”
“Of course. May I have your email?”
Lady News handed him a card. She had printed a dozen that morning at her brother’s suggestion. “If we’re going to be professional, we need a calling card,” she had told the team on the way over. “I came up with this name, but if you guys hate it, we can change it later.” None of them had objected, so the name stuck.
“The Salon Detective Agency,” Franco read aloud, eyeing the card before handing it to his assistant. “Amelia will send the NDAs to your email. If you agree to the terms, you can sign them digitally or send back a scanned printout. Either is fine.”
His assistant, a young woman in a sharp black pencil skirt suit who had been standing silently nearby, stepped forward. “I’m Amelia. If you have any questions regarding the NDAs, I’m available to discuss them.”
“A pleasure, Amelia,” Lady News replied.
“I have business to attend to, but please, stay and enjoy the tea,” Franco said, rising. He shook their hands again and turned to Style. “Give my best to your brother. I’ll visit him after the holidays.”
“Of course, I’ll pass that along. Merry Natalis,” Style replied with a charming smile.
Once Franco had departed with Amelia and his bodyguard, the team and Style settled back into the plush sofas. Between sips of tea and bites of gourmet pastry, they began to deconstruct the situation. The consensus was unanimous: the mansion was a fortress. The security measures were ironclad, meaning the burglar wasn’t just a professional, but also knew the layout of the house in advance.