If Hector had bought an engagement ring, there was no world in which he would have walked out on Camila the next day of his own will. As Trevor and Spion left Camila’s apartment, the theories began to swirl. Could he have been drowning in debt, forced to vanish to stay alive? Or had some old enemy finally caught up with him?
“Or worst-case scenario,” Spion muttered as they hit the sidewalk, “he’s been killed.”
Either way, their next stop was Hector’s workplace to question his coworkers.
The next morning, they went to the Wounded Warrior Project and met Hector’s superior, Randy Karger, in the office. Randy was a veteran in his fifties—bald, long-faced, and possessing eyes that seemed to scan for threats even in a peaceful office. He wore a crisp military-green shirt, and a string of Buddhist prayer beads lay coiled on his desk like a sleeping snake.
“So, you’re the detectives Camila hired? Not the FBI?” Randy asked, his eyebrows arching in surprise.
“Private sector,” Trevor confirmed. “Camila doesn’t believe the ‘runaway’ story. She wants the truth.”
“Well, I know them both, and I don’t buy it either,” Randy said. He leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But a word of advice? You should get some fake FBI badges. Just like in the movies—people talk a lot more when they think the government is knocking.”
Trevor and Spion exchanged an awkward, silent glance.
“We’ll keep that under consideration. Thank you,” Trevor said dryly.
Randy let out a booming laugh. “Relax, it was a bad joke. So, what do you need from me?”
“We’re looking for the ground-level truth,” Trevor said. “The kind of details a man might keep from his girlfriend to protect her. Did he have any gambling debts? Any old grudges? We need to know if he was looking over his shoulder.”
While Trevor spoke, Spion propped up his tablet, his stylus poised to capture every detail.
“Debt? Grudges?” Randy shook his head slowly. “None that I saw. He’s a solid man—kind, almost to a fault. Like me, he served in Bactria. He was part of a twenty-five-man unit on a high-stakes mission, but he took a hit to the left leg. Lost all sensation from the hip down. After that, he could only move with the aid of an exoskeleton, so they moved him into logistics.”
Randy leaned back, his gaze turning distant. “We pulled out five years ago when the terrorists retook the region. That war was a failure—not for us, but for humanity. I see the news now; women there aren’t allowed to work or go to school. It’s the twenty-first century and we’re still dealing with this bullshit.” He sighed, his fingers rhythmically sliding over his prayer beads. “I discovered Buddhism over there. It gave me the peace I couldn’t find in a rifle. Since I retired, I’ve sought the Buddha’s guidance. War and killing… they never truly solve anything.”
“Did Hector share your faith?” Trevor asked.
“Oh, no, just me. Since the gods abandoned us, sometimes I use the wisdom of the Buddha to guide injured soldiers or those who feel lost and confused after retiring from military service. As for Hector, he has always been resilient and optimistic, he values loyalty and friendship. I simply can’t believe he would leave without saying goodbye, especially without even telling us.”
“Did the two of you spend much time together outside the office?” Trevor asked.
“We used to grab drinks on Friday nights or head to the stadium for a baseball game,” Randy recalled. “We even played baseball together casually for a while, but I’m not as young as I used to be. I hung up my cleats two years ago.”
Trevor’s eyebrows shot up. “He could play sports? Even with the injury? How much can that exoskeleton actually do?”
“He played first base,” Randy explained. “But don’t get the wrong idea—the exoskeleton is a base model. It’s a mobility aid, not a super-suit. It helps him swing his leg forward, but it doesn’t give him extra strength. He can’t carry heavy loads, and it certainly doesn’t support his back for long hauls. Plus, the battery only lasts about four hours before it needs a dock.”
So Camila was right, Trevor thought. There was no way a man with a four-hour battery and zero weight-bearing support could have hauled two heavy military bags and a suitcase to go abroad alone. He still needed to see the footage himself, but the “runaway” story was falling apart.
“It’s nearly lunch,” Randy noted, checking his watch. “The rest of the staff will be gathering soon. If you want to pull them aside and ask a few questions, I can make the introductions.”
“That would be incredibly helpful, thank you,” Trevor replied.
Randy led them down a narrow hallway and into the activity room. A few staff members were huddled around a large wall-mounted screen, their faces grim in the blue light of the broadcast. The news was dire: the Persia Massacres were escalating, with reports of thousands of protesters executed by the regime. On-screen, Fairylander warplanes and aircraft carriers were already cutting through the waves of the Persian Gulf. War wasn’t just a possibility anymore; it looked imminent.
Randy muted the news and gathered the staff. Trevor and Spion spent the next hour interviewing Hector’s coworkers. The consensus was unanimous: Hector was easygoing, a bit naive, and—ironically—not very romantic. They were all still shocked he had landed a celebrity like Camila.
“Did he mention a proposal to any of you?” Trevor asked.
“Yeah, we helped him plan it,” a middle-aged man named Noah said. “I was with him when he picked out the ring. Camila found it, right? She’s happy?”
Trevor gave a non-committal nod.
“We planned it a week ago,” another coworker, Will, added. “Alana suggested hiding the ring in food.” He pointed to a black woman sitting nearby. “And I saw an ad in a magazine for a chocolate company doing a Valentine’s promotion. They specialize in ‘romantic surprises.’”
“Everything was set to be perfect,” Alana sighed. “I was already picturing the ceremony. They were made for each other. There’s no way he left her of his own accord. Something had to have happened to him.”
“Detective, I’ve got a theory,” a young man with sharp blue eyes and blonde hair interrupted. “Hector was snatched by the ICA. He isn’t exactly a ‘White Fairylander,’ is he? They probably flagged him as an illegal, grabbed him, or worse—killed him—then staged the whole disappearance to cover their tracks.”
“That’s crazy,” Will muttered, shaking his head. “You’re talking like a conspiracy nut, Bran.”
“Am I? Plenty of ‘crazy’ things have become daily news since she took power!” Bran snapped, waving a magazine emphatically. “If we don’t push back against the ICA now, she’s going to turn this country into a cult of personality. We’ll all be lined up next, just like the poor souls in Persia.”
Trevor’s eyes locked onto the magazine in Bran’s hand. The headline across the cover practically jumped out at him: CEO Jack Goblinez.
“That magazine,” Trevor said sharply. “May I see it?”
Bran paused, looking down at the glossy cover before passing it to Trevor. “It’s just office reading. There’s a whole stack of them on the shelf.”
“That’s it,” Will interjected, his eyes lighting up. “That’s the magazine with the ad. The company belongs to that Jack dude on the cover. He’s some billionaire toy king.”
Trevor flipped the magazine over. It was a sleek business periodical, the cover featuring a man in a dark green turtleneck with a groomed beard and a wide, confident smile. The headline read: JackToy CEO Jack Goblinez: Inside the Toy Box. The cover story traced his path from classic jack-in-the-boxes to his latest aggressive expansion: a “luxury romance” chocolate line designed to dominate the Valentine’s Day market.
Trevor exchanged a sharp, knowing look with Spion. “Did Hector ever mention knowing this Jack Goblinez?”
“I don’t think so,” Will said, shaking his head.
But Alana raised her hand, her expression turning uneasy. “Hector didn’t, but Camila did. I was on a double date with them about three weeks ago, and she mentioned him. Apparently, this Jack guy sent a massive display of flowers to her studio. She was convinced he was trying to pursue her. She even asked me for advice on how to turn him down without making things complicated.”