Six Names
889 Words
Conversations returned.
Champagne glasses clinked.
Music drifted lazily through the ballroom as though nothing important had happened.
That was the thing Nyla had always found strange about wealthy people.
History could change in the middle of a room...
...and someone would still ask for another glass of wine.
Marcus had already disappeared toward the buffet.
"Professional surveillance," he'd claimed.
She had watched him leave with two desserts.
Liar.
Captain Brooks appeared beside her.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"I've questioned murder suspects that were more entertaining."
Brooks smiled.
"I expected that answer."
She handed Nyla a slim black folder.
"There are six names inside."
Nyla frowned.
"Here?"
"I was waiting until after the Governor finished speaking."
She opened it.
Six photographs.
Six people.
Former detectives.
Evidence technicians.
A retired prosecutor.
People connected to her parents' final investigation.
Some names meant nothing.
But two names made her stop.
Leon Varga.
Former forensic pathologist.
Retired three weeks after Ethan and Clara
Michaels disappeared.
Current whereabouts: Unknown.
"Why him?" Nyla asked quietly.
Brooks folded her arms.
"When Rowan requested your parents' case be reopened eighteen months ago, Leon
Varga's name appeared in every request."
"And nobody questioned it?"
"They weren't allowed to."
"By Gate."
Brooks didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
Nyla suddenly gasped. “This man… I saw him more than once when I was a child… Daniel Kwan."
"Your father's old partner," Brookes said as she folded her arms, "Before the department paired him with your mother, he ran two years of undercover work with Kwan. Same task force that got quietly dissolved eight months before your parents disappeared.”
Across the ballroom...
Adrian politely excused himself from a conversation with a cabinet minister.
He disliked politics.
Not because politicians lied.
Everyone lied.
Politicians simply expected applause afterward.
His phone vibrated.
His chief analyst.
Urgent.
He answered quietly.
"What happened?"
"We found another transfer."
Adrian slowed his pace.
"Connected to yesterday's investigation?"
"Yes."
"Legal companies."
"Yes."
"But they all terminate at the same holding corporation."
"And?"
His analyst hesitated.
"We can't identify who owns it."
"Impossible."
"That's what I thought."
Silence.
"There isn't a name anywhere."
"No directors."
"No shareholders."
"No registered beneficiaries."
"It exists..."
"...without existing."
Adrian's expression changed almost imperceptibly.
"Freeze everything."
"Nobody touches that server."
"I'm coming in tomorrow."
He ended the call.
For the first time that evening…He wasn't thinking about the gala.
Near the ballroom entrance...
Hilary Dawson accepted another glass of champagne she had absolutely no intention of drinking.
She hated charity galas.
Everyone pretended to be generous.
Half the room wrote the donations off as taxes.
The other half wanted photographs.
She spotted Quincy across the room.
Still as composed as ever
It amazed her sometimes.
Three years of marriage...
and she'd never once figured out what he was thinking.
Perhaps nobody ever would.
"Miss. Dawson."
She turned as irritation filled her eyes hearing the word “miss”.
An older woman smiled warmly.
"I loved your latest film."
"Thank you."
"And Mr. Grey's speech."
Hilary laughed softly.
"That's the shortest speech he's ever given."
"You two still speak?"
"Occasionally."
The woman nodded knowingly.
"Some people are impossible to stop loving."
Hilary looked toward Quincy again.
There had been a time she would've agreed.
Now...
She simply answered,
"Some people are impossible to understand."
Nyla stepped onto one of the quieter balconies overlooking the city.
The night air cooled her thoughts.
The folder remained open in her hands.
Leon Varga.
Grace Holloway.
Daniel Kwan.
Paul Mercer.
Diane Frost.
Martin Ellis.
Six names.
Six lives connected to two dead detectives.
Footsteps interrupted her thoughts.
"You escaped too?"
She looked up.
Adrian.
Holding two glasses of sparkling water.
He offered one.
She accepted.
"Thanks."
"I've learned ballroom conversations have an average lifespan of forty-five seconds before someone asks what school your father attended."
She laughed.
"I don't think anyone asked me that."
"They assumed you're too honest to answer politically."
"You've known me twenty minutes."
"I'm optimistic."
She smiled despite herself.
They stood quietly for a moment.
Watching traffic far below.
"I've seen your name before," Adrian said eventually.
She looked sideways.
"In the news?"
"No."
He shook his head.
"Academic journals."
"My cybersecurity division occasionally assists law enforcement."
"You wrote a paper on behavioral crime analysis five years ago."
She blinked.
"You actually read that?"
"I disagreed with page thirty-two."
Now she laughed properly.
"You remember the page?"
"I remember good arguments."
"So..."
She folded her arms.
"What was wrong with page thirty-two?"
"You assumed intelligent offenders become arrogant."
"I still think they do."
"I think intelligent offenders become patient."
She considered that.
"Interesting."
"It makes them harder to catch."
Something in his voice lingered.
Like experience.
Not theory.
Before she could ask—
Marcus burst through the balcony doors.
"There you are."
He looked between them.
"I've interrupted something."
"You interrupted sparkling water."
Marcus looked disappointed.
"I was hoping for something scandalous."
"There isn't."
"Yet."
Nyla rolled her eyes.
"Go away."
"I came because Brooks wants us."
He turned toward Adrian.
"Pleasure meeting you."
"You too."
As Marcus and Nyla walked back inside...
Adrian watched her disappear into the crowd.
Interesting, he thought.
Very interesting.
Not because she was beautiful.
Though she was.
Because she'd spent ten minutes talking to him...
without asking what he was worth.
That happened far less often than people imagined.
- Writer
