Isabel was stretched thin this Monday. She had spent the entire day at the hospital navigating a gauntlet of doctors, nurses, and a constant stream of inquiries from Franco’s business partners. Exhausted and in no mood for an interrogation, she postponed her meeting with the team until the following day. With their primary lead on hold, the team retreated to the Salon for a lavish French dinner with James Style in a private dining room.
Over dessert, Style delivered a mix of updates. The bad news: the police had refused to share the security footage from the Gotham Hotel fire. “The official line is that only four guests were in the lounge that night,” Style explained, “and the authorities claim there’s no need to question them. We’ll have to find another way in.”
The good news, however, was a list of the elites who had been playing poker with Franco at the moment of the shooting. The names were heavy hitters:
- Edgar Stark: A venture capitalist who recently struck gold in the green energy sector.
- Edward Adams II: The son of Lord Adams.
- Philip Landau: A media tycoon and Josh’s father.
- Andrew Douglas: A business magnate and the owner of the factory club itself.
“They aren’t just billionaires; they’re power players,” Style noted. “The police questioned them as a formality, but truthfully, none of them could offer a single detail about where the shot came from.”
“We need to dig deeper into Franco’s past,” Report Man stated, tapping his chin. “Isabel and Victoria are still our best chance for that.”
“Mateo and Fiona are cutting their honeymoon short and will be back tomorrow afternoon,” Style added. “Victoria returns from Phoenix on Wednesday. I’ll have my brother arrange a meeting then.”
“That would be perfect,” Lady News said. “I’ve tried looking into Victoria, but she’s as low-profile as her ex-husband. All I could find is that her father was a prominent property developer in Phoenix who went bankrupt during the savings and loan crisis in the early nineties. She and Franco apparently lived in poverty for a while.”
“If she stayed with him through the lean years, she knows his secrets better than anyone,” Report Man observed.
“We found a connection between the Francos and the Lost Boys,” Trevor noted. “It goes back decades—his step-brother was actually jailed for it. We’re short on details since it happened over forty years ago, but maybe your brother’s resources could help us dig up the specifics.”
Style looked surprised. “That’s news to me. I’ll see what he can find. My brother actually opposed the marriage at first because he knew so little about the Franco lineage, but the kids were in love, so he eventually gave in.”
As the plates were cleared, Style dropped a personal bombshell. “I’ll be heading to Salem for a few days starting tomorrow. If you need anything, just call me.”
“A holiday in Salem?” Spion asked, eyebrows raised. “Do you really want to fight through crowds of tourists in those narrow historical streets?”
“I suspect an invitation was involved,” Lady News said with a knowing smile.
Style blushed, looking down at his plate. “Well… a lady invited me.”
“Naturally,” Lady News replied with a wry grin.
“Shall we head downstairs?” Style suggested, eager to change the subject. “I’d like to move our digestifs to the party hall.”
Monday night at the Salon felt less like a high-energy club and more like the world’s most exclusive neighborhood pub. A world-class jazz band played soft, romantic melodies; the wine and whiskey were award-winning, and the snacks were better than most Michelin-starred appetizers.
They took a central table to support a friend of Style’s in the band. “The bassist, Arthur Downey Jr.,” Style pointed out. “He was the lawyer who handled a little trouble for me five years ago. Now he’s a professional musician. His band won a Grammy last year.”
As they settled in, a server arrived with wings, fries, and two beautifully wrapped gift boxes that hadn’t been ordered.
“Little John? I thought you were behind the bar tonight,” Spion noted.
“Delivering gifts for Lady News and Mr. Edson,” Little John said, placing the boxes on the table with care. “These are from Shemsu’s parents as a thank-you for rescuing their son. I got one too. Shemsu is off-duty, so he asked me to play courier.”
“How generous! Please pass along my deepest thanks,” Lady News said, her eyes brightening.
“Tell them I’m incredibly grateful,” Trevor added.
“Enjoy the night. I gotta get back—Bob’s on vacation, so it’s just Daniel and me tonight,” Little John said before heading back to the bar.
Lady News opened her box to find a large, sand-beige silk scarf with a subtle blue and yellow pattern, matching lambskin gloves, and a cashmere beanie. An envelope with a red wax seal sat on top. “They were handmade in Beheira,” she whispered, reading the card. “They’re beautiful. And look—my name is embroidered into the scarf.” She gazed on the beanie, added, “and the beanie too.”
“Ultra-smooth, high-luster… this is top-tier luxury,” Report Man remarked, feeling the fabric.
Trevor opened his box to find an identical set, but with his full name embroidered on the scarf and his initials on the beanie. He stared at the red wax seal on the envelope; it was in the shape of a flounder. “These must have cost a fortune.”
“Don’t you remember the day Shemsu’s father video-chatted us? When he asked us to take Shemsu to the hospital for a full health check.” Lady News said. “He was on a luxury yacht, looking completely relaxed. I think his family is super rich.”
“I’ve suspected that for a while,” Spion added. “When I worked here, his parents would send the staff expensive teas and coffees. One day, Shemsu brought in a box of cookies his mother had ‘just made,’ but they tasted like they’d come out of the oven only hours ago. Given that his family is in Alexandria, they’d need a private jet to get them here that fast.”
“Did you ever ask him?” Trevor asked.
Spion shook his head with an exaggerated sigh. “No. I was too afraid it would hurt my ego.”