The Tinderbox, as Jimmy described it, was more than just an antique; it was a relic of the Franco family. It was his connection to his father and his lucky charm, the thing that had seen him through the brutal early days of building his empire in the Fairylands. Years ago, Franco carried it himself in a battered briefcase. Now that he had reached the heights of status and wealth, he entrusted it to his security detail.
Jimmy, Robin, and Dan—the three core bodyguards—knew its importance. Victoria, Isabel, Amelia, and the butler, Adams, knew it too. Perhaps even the carousel of women Franco had invited into his bedroom over the years had caught a glimpse of it. Jimmy had only seen the inside once: separate compartments for fire steel, a flint, and a short candle. Franco had told him then that he hadn’t used it in ten years and likely never would again. With his wealth and connections, his life was secure—the days of worrying about bills and survival were supposed to be over forever.
“I’ve carried that box for years. I know its weight by heart. It’s crafted from heavy wood and brass, but this one… this one felt wrong. It’s too light. Maybe it’s empty, or maybe the whole box is a total fake. I haven’t dared to open it, but I know. I just hope Mr. Franco doesn’t find out.” Jimmy’s voice broke, and he buried his face in his hands, trembling.
“Does anyone else know it was swapped? Robin? Dan?” Lady News asked.
Jimmy shook his head. “Only Robin and I were responsible for it that day. I had it on me almost the entire time. I only handed it to him when I went to the restroom or grabbed a quick bite. Mr. Franco’s rule is absolute: the box must always be within his sight, carried by whichever guard is on his shoulder.”
“How can you be sure it happened during the after-party at the Salon and not earlier?” Report Man asked.
“I took it back from Robin after supper, and the weight felt right then. I spend half my life in the gym; I’m sensitive to weight changes,” Jimmy insisted. “I never left the boss’s side during the after-party, but the crowd was a sea of people. When Miss Franco was dancing with Mr. Style, the lights went low. Mr. Franco stepped out of the booth to get a better look at his daughter, and I moved with him to clear a path. People were pressing in from all sides. I didn’t think twice about it… I never imagined someone would be bold enough to pickpocket a bodyguard.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Trevor said, trying to offer some comfort to the distraught man. “My father lost his watch and cufflinks at a gala just weeks ago. These thieves are professionals.”
“Will you help me? Please… don’t let Mr. Franco know. I can’t afford to lose this job,” Jimmy pleaded.
“We’ll help you find it, and we’ll find the person responsible,” Lady News assured him, her voice softening. “Is there anything else you want to tell us? Even the smallest detail might matter.”
Jimmy shook his head solemnly.
“The people who knew about the Tinderbox are our primary suspects,” Report Man noted. “Keep a close eye on them. If you notice anything unusual, let us know immediately.”
Jimmy nodded, reaching for his pocket. “May I have your number? I’ll reach out the second I find something.”
“Certainly,” Lady News replied, handing him one of their new calling cards.
After interviewing Jimmy, the team had a brief word with Adams, the butler. A man nearing fifty with a meticulously groomed, old-fashioned mustache, Adams held a degree from the Butler Academy of Bridgeton in the Neverlands—the world’s most prestigious school for domestic service. He had served Franco for over fifteen years. Though he lived in the mansion most of the time, he kept a private apartment in the city where he lived a surprisingly wild life off-duty. He was quite open about his dalliances with both men and women, yet he remained fiercely protective of his professional reputation. “Bloody hell, I would never bring such company into my employer’s home,” he declared, chin tilted high. “That would be utterly unprofessional—a dishonor to Mr. Franco, to myself, and to the Academy.” He spoke with a typical Neverlander accent.
“Could any other staff have slipped someone in?” Lady News asked.
“Not under my watch. I guard this house more strictly than those muscle-bound boys outside. I view this estate as a work of art I’ve helped create.”
“Much appreciated, Adams. And thank you for the wonderful desserts—they were truly exquisite,” Lady News noted, rising from her seat. “We’ll be in touch if any further questions come to mind.”
After the meeting with Adams, the team left the mansion and headed to the Dressrious Salon for dinner. The Salon was currently hosting a Jazz Age Masquerade. The party hall was a spectacle of brilliant lights and vibrant colors, filled with guests in 1920s sequins and fringe, swinging to the brassy rhythm of the Blue Notes. Yet, once dinner was over, the four of them remained tucked away in the shadows of their cozy booth, the festive music fading into the background as they began to dissect the day’s discoveries.
“The loss of the Tinderbox is our new entry point,” Report Man said, scribbling in his notebook. “The burglar and the pickpocket are likely the same person. We need the guest list from the wedding and the after-party. Jimmy is right, the ball was the perfect cover for a swap.”
“And we need to visit Victoria,” Lady News added. “Stealing her ex-husband’s lucky charm sounds like the ultimate act of revenge. I’ll see which of my friends can get us an introduction.”
“We also need to dig into his former enemies,” Report Man said, glancing down at his notes. “My friends in the media have heard the rumors about him: briberies, rigged trades… But so far, it’s all hearsay. No evidence.”
“I found something regarding his past as well,” Trevor added. He slid his phone across the table, showing them the anonymous post detailing Franco’s alleged ties to the Lost Boys.
“A deeper rabbit hole than I thought,” Report Man mused, scribbling furiously in his notebook. “Looks like we have a lot more digging to do.”
“The Tinderbox is the key connected to his past,” Trevor said. “We have to know exactly what it looks like—even if it’s just the fake. We need a way to convince Franco to let us examine it without tipping him off that we know it’s been swapped.” He paused, a look of concern crossing his face. “If we don’t act fast, Franco is going to notice the difference himself, and we won’t be able to save Jimmy’s job.”
“Maybe he’ll never find out. He hasn’t used it in a decade,” Spion mused, leaning back. “Which makes me wonder… what’s so special about this Tinderbox? Why carry it everywhere? If it’s just to remember his father, a photograph would be ten times easier to carry. It doesn’t add up.”
“Exactly. Even for a valuable antique, you’d keep it in a vault, not on a bodyguard’s belt,” Lady News added, her fingers tracing the edge of her burgundy leather clutch. “Why carry something that has no use in the modern age? I carry this vintage clutch not only because it belonged to my grandmother, but also because I actually use it.”
“Unless,” Report Man said, his eyes widening with a sudden realization, “it isn’t just an antique. What if it’s a Tinderbox with magic? What if it can do things an ordinary box can’t? Just like your clutch, Lady News.”
Trevor looked at the Report Man, then at Lady News’s elegant burgundy leather clutch. “Your clutch is magic?”
“Guilty,” Lady News said, winking. “Keep it on the low, though. I’d rather not incur the interest of the local pickpockets. Haven’t you ever wondered how I pull so many things out of here? Things much larger than the clutch itself? Like that oversized bottle of pepper spray I used at Shemsu’s apartment?”
Trevor glanced at Spion, who simply as surprised as him.
“I can fit almost anything inside, as long as I can squeeze it through the opening,” Lady News continued, her smile widening. “That’s my secret for those late-night outfit changes. I don’t just scroll through digital clothing data on the Dressrious app, I literally carry a walk-in closet with me wherever I go.”