The show continued on the stage. The sailor dancers were replaced by actors in elaborate sea-creature costumes, performing a romantic comedy centered on a pink potbelly starfish. Laughter rippled through the audience, who were bathed in a blue glow from the ocean-wave projectors. It was easy to get lost in the illusion of the deep sea.
Everyone, that is, except the four detectives. They were locked in a silent, continuous text thread, brainstorming their phone-stealing plan and circling their target like sharks. To an elderly lady at a neighboring table, however, they were just the younger generation who couldn’t live without their phones.
The play reached its crescendo as the pink starfish and the green-skinned mermaid princess shared a final, dramatic kiss. To the sound of roaring applause, the cast took their curtain calls, and a pianist took the stage to provide a sophisticated backdrop for the dinner service. The dim blue lighting remained—a perfect shroud for what came next.
Dinner was over, and the room shifted into the fluid rhythm of drinks and socializing. The moment Trevor and Report Man saw Franco finish his conversation with Senator Style, they made their move.
“An incredible gala, Mr. Franco,” Report Man praised, beaming. “Congratulations. You’ve presented us with yet another miracle.”
“Call me Connor,” Franco replied, though his eyes darted restlessly around the room. “I have a brief meeting with some associates shortly, but I’ll find you afterward. I have a new lead I think you should hear.”
“We can discuss that later,” Report Man said smoothly. “I have to tell you, your lapel pin has been the subject of a heated debate between Trevor and me all night. I’m convinced it’s a late nineteenth-century antique, but Trevor is a skeptic. He insists it’s a modern retro piece. We’ve actually placed a small wager on who’s right.”
“I’m sure I saw it in a fashion spread,” Trevor added, offering a sheepish, awkward smile. “Something like three thousand dollars? I just can’t remember the designer’s name.”
Franco looked down at his golden pin—a ruby sun on his lapel paired with a diamond-encrusted silver lily on his breast pocket. He let out a boisterous laugh. “Haha! I’m not sure which of you wins the bet. Isabel gave it to me for my ‘rebirth.’” He glanced over at Isabel, who was deep in conversation with Lady News. They were animatedly dissecting that viral romance drama—the one everyone was obsessed with lately, about the two rival ice hockey players.
“Do you use the Dressrious app?” Report Man asked. “I log all my accessories there so I never lose track of their history.”
“You’re a man of taste,” Trevor added. “I’d love to see how a man of your stature organizes a digital closet. It would certainly broaden my horizons.”
“Haha! I have the app, though I usually leave the logging to Isabel and Adams,” Franco said. He raised his voice slightly, “Isabel, dear? Hand me my phone.”
Without breaking her stride in the conversation, Isabel pulled the device from her pink pochette and handed it to Franco.
“I can show you,” Franco bragged, trying to trigger the facial recognition. “The value of my wardrobe could rival the GDP of a small country. Let’s see who that designer was…”
The ambient light was intentionally low, and Trevor and Report Man shifted their weight, subtly blocking the nearest light source to ensure Franco’s face remained in shadow. The phone failed to recognize its master.
“Face ID is a headache in this lighting,” Trevor suggested helpfully. “Fingerprints were always more reliable.”
“Agreed. I’ll just use the passcode,” Franco muttered. “This is why I prefer human assistants over stupid tech.”
He tapped a six-digit sequence into the screen. He didn’t notice Spion “coincidentally” passing behind him, his sharp eyes tracking every subtle movement of Franco’s arm. Got it.
“Ah, a retro piece from a boutique in Paris called Raphaël. Two thousand, nine hundred and eighty-eight dollars,” Franco laughed. “I suppose Trevor wins.”
“Darn. Looks like I’m buying dinner for a month,” Report Man said with a wry grin.
“This is only a fraction of my collection,” Franco said, thumbing through the digital racks. “I have a dozen residences across the globe, and each has a dedicated butler to manage the local wardrobe through a separate Dressrious account, all synced via the ‘Sharing’ feature to my master profile. It’s the true curse of being wealthy—you have so many assets to manage.”
Trevor and Report Man laughed along, feeding his ego with perfectly timed compliments and marveling at his selections. Their performance was only interrupted when Amelia appeared, ushering two business associates toward them.
“We’ll finish this later,” Franco said, sliding the phone back to Isabel before turning to greet his guests.
Trevor and Report Man immediately joined Lady News, surrounding Isabel in a flurry of compliments about her dress. She was so distracted by the trio’s attention that she didn’t feel Spion’s practiced hands slip the phone from her pochette.
Spion retreated to a dark corner. He punched in the six-digit code—the phone unlocked. He opened the security app. Same password. But as the interface loaded, his blood ran cold.
The motion sensors were already disabled.
He refreshed the status. Disabled. He didn’t have time to wonder why. He slipped back into the crowd, returned the phone to the pochette under the cover of the others, and returned to his seat.
He sent a frantic message to the group: “Sensors are down. Someone got to them before me.”
Suddenly, two bodyguards rushed toward Franco. One had large, wet stains on his trousers.
“Mr. Franco, someone jumped me in the restroom,” the guard hissed, his voice trembling. “I was drugged, and the security override controller is gone. Someone is planning to break into your mansion.”
“What? Who?” Franco’s face turned a violent shade of red.
“I don’t know. Jake found me unconscious,” the guard replied.
“Useless trash,” Franco hissed. He paused for a split second before his eyes narrowed. “Victoria. It has to be her. Find her. Now!”
The guards immediately began speaking into their radios.
“Contact the team at the mansion,” Franco ordered. “Double the guard. Check the workroom immediately!”
“Dad? What’s happening?” Fiona approached, Alisa trailing behind her.
“Your mother, where is she?” Franco demanded.
“She left a few minutes ago,” Fiona said, startled. “She said she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to rest.”
“Call her! Now!” Franco roared.
“Sir,” Adams whispered, stepping in. “A scene is not proper. Let us move to a private room.”
Franco nodded curtly, maintaining a fake smile for the curious guests as he allowed Adams to lead the family away. The detective team gathered in the vacuum they left behind.
“It looks like Victoria wants those files as much as we do,” Trevor whispered.
“She’s tired of being under his thumb,” Report Man added.
A vibration hummed in their pockets. A text from Patric: “Who? What’s the status?”
“Patric,” Lady News whispered into her mic. “Victoria moved first. She’s sent someone into the mansion to get the data.”
“I’m going into the mansion,” Patric replied. “Wish me luck.”
He summoned the Gray Hound, and vanished into a swirl of mist.