The trucking of a ghost
900 Words
Your sister failed. And you," he turned around, his gray eyes locking onto Joshua’s, "are currently proving every stereotype about the 'low-IQ' criminal element I was planning to discuss today."
The class gasped. Beckham, who had been leaning back, sat up straight, his eyes wide. No one talked to Joshua Valerius like that. No one.
Joshua’s face went purple. He picked up the gun and pointed it straight at Julian’s heart. "Say that again. I dare you."
Melody leaned back, her legs crossed, watching the scene with a wide, fascinated smile. She wanted to see Julian break. She wanted to see the "Cold Professor" finally show a drop of sweat.
But Julian just stepped closer to the gun. He walked until the muzzle was touching his chest.
"If you're going to shoot me, Joshua, do it before the ten o'clock bell," Julian whispered. "I have a department meeting, and I’d hate to be late because of a student's temper tantrum."
The silence in the room was so thick you could hear Leo’s heavy, panicked breathing from three rows back.
"Joshua, stop," Melody said suddenly, her voice cutting through the tension.
Everyone looked at her. Her smile hadn't faded, but her eyes were narrowed, fixed on the way Julian didn't even blink. He wasn't a hero—he looked bored. And that, more than anything, terrified her and thrilled her at the same time.
"He's not worth the mess," Melody said, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "Besides, if you kill him, who’s going to give me my 'A' when I finally convince him?"
Joshua stared at Julian for a long beat, the hammer of the gun clicked back. Then, with a snarl, he tucked it away. "This isn't over, Vance."
"Page forty-five," Julian said, turning back to the board. "Let’s talk about the collapse of power."
As the lecture began, Melody leaned over to her bodyguard, Marco. "Find out where he lives. I want to know what a man who isn't afraid of a gun does in his spare time."
The heavy door of the black SUV thudded shut, sealing Melody away from the prying eyes of the university. Outside, the "convoy" was a wall of tinted glass and steel, but inside, the air was thick with Melody’s frantic, uneven breathing.
"Marco," she whispered, her eyes fixed on the rearview mirror where she could see Julian Vance walking calmly toward the faculty parking lot—on foot. "Give me the kit."
Marco, sitting in the front passenger seat, didn't ask questions. He reached into the glove compartment and handed her a small, velvet-lined box. Inside wasn't jewelry, but a set of microscopic adhesive GPS trackers, the kind her father’s "specialists" used to tag rival shipments.
"He thinks he’s so clever," Melody muttered, her fingers trembling as she peeled the backing off a tracker no larger than a grain of rice. "He thinks he can stand in front of a gun and not have a single secret. Nobody is that brave without a reason."
"Miss, your brother is already at the warehouse," Marco reminded her, glancing at his watch. "He expects you home for the briefing with your father."
The sun had begun to dip, casting long, bruised shadows over the Valerius Estate. In the grand foyer, Hektor, the head butler, was directing a line of maids to polish the marble for the third time that day.
"Move faster!" Hektor hissed at a young girl named Lila. "If the Master sees a streak on the banister, it’s your head!"
Melody ignored them all, storming up the grand staircase to her room. She bypassed the sprawling balcony and the walk-in closet, throwing herself onto her silk-canopied bed and pulling up the tracking app on her phone.
The blue dot was moving. It had left the university, bypassed the high-end districts, and was now stationary in a neighborhood called 'The Thistles'—a place where the streetlights were usually broken and the police only went in pairs.
"What are you doing there, Julian?" she mused, her eyes narrowed. "Buying a soul? Or selling one?"
She waited an hour. Then two. Finally, the obsession became too much. She didn't call the convoy. She slipped down the back service stairs, avoiding the kitchen where her father and Joshua were loudy discussing a "dockside dispute," and found Marco in the garage.
"Take the small car," she ordered, pointing to a silver luxury sedan. "And no sirens. We’re going ghost."
The drive to Julian’s apartment was a descent into a world Melody didn't recognize. The buildings were cramped, the air smelled of rain and cheap diesel, and the people on the corners didn't look like they had ever seen a Valentino suit.
"He lives here?" Melody wrinkled her nose as the car pulled up to a red-brick walk-up. "It looks like a shoebox. A very dusty shoebox."
She climbed out, her heels clicking dangerously loud on the cracked pavement. She didn't knock; she used a master keycard she’d swiped from the university’s maintenance office to bypass the front buzzer. She reached Apartment 3B and hammered on the door.
When it opened, the air that hit her wasn't the smell of old books or poverty. It was rich, spicy, and mouth-watering.
- Writer
