Mister Dream Man

Chapter Seven

* Lawrence *

"Where is she?"

The words left my mouth like a quiet growl, forced through clenched teeth. I tried to keep the anger in check, to stop it from spilling into something reckless, something I couldn't walk back later. But it was becoming impossible, hours had passed, and Amanda Kramer still hadn't shown.

The manager looked visibly uncomfortable. He stood near the glass wall of the office, fiddling with his watch strap, like he could escape the weight of my question by appearing busy. When his phone vibrated, he turned his back slightly as he read the message. A second later, his shoulders tensed and his face went pale.

"I—I need a moment," he muttered, then slipped out of the room.

That was three hours ago.

Still no Amanda. No return call. No word. Only a void.

I remained in the manager's office long after I should've left, seated in a chair that was too plush to match the rising discomfort gnawing at my spine. Outside, the afternoon gave way to early evening, the light softening to a rich amber glow. Shadows stretched long across the polished floors, tracing the room in quiet accusation. I stared at the stack of files on the table in front of me, flipping through guest registries and incident reports, searching for anything, anything, that might give me a thread to pull.

The longer she stayed missing, the clearer it became, this wasn't some case of nerves. She hadn't just panicked and gone off-grid for a few hours.

She'd planned this.

At precisely 6:13 PM, the manager came back, stiff posture, jaw clenched like he'd swallowed something bitter.

"She's gone," he said.

I looked up sharply. "Gone?" My voice cracked like ice.

"We checked her staff quarters. She never returned after her last shift. Locker's empty. Clothes, toiletries, even her charger. Housekeeping said the bed hadn't been slept in. It's like..." He hesitated, visibly hesitant to finish the thought. "Like she never existed."

I stood slowly. The words echoed in the space between us, unreal, absurd, and yet, deep down, they made perfect sense.

"She lives on-site, correct?" I asked.

"Lived," he corrected quietly. "Temporary staff quarters, South Wing. She was registered for another three weeks. But now someone said she never slept their over night, only to rest in between breaks."

"She packed up and vanished?"

He nodded once.

"Pull her records. I want her last known residential address. I want everything."

"Yes, sir."

He moved briskly to the far desk, fingers tapping at the keyboard with urgency, but I was already moving toward the balcony. My phone buzzed before I got there.

The call is coming from my father. Of course.

I answered as the heavy glass door slid shut behind me, stepping into the salty evening air. A cold breeze licked against my shirt, but it wasn't enough to cool the rising heat under my collar.

"Lawrence," came his voice, clipped and decisive.

"I know why you're calling," I said, tone as sharp as the ocean wind.

"I heard she's missing."

"News travels fast when your last name can command an entire island," I muttered.

"Don't be flippant."

"She walked out," I told him flatly. "No trace. Staff housing cleared. No notes. No farewell. Just gone."

"And your mother's ring?" he asked, voice tight.

"Still missing."

I heard the clink of glass on his end. He was probably standing on his villa's balcony, fingers wrapped around a glass of something expensive. The man was a blueprint of composure, but I knew that edge in his tone. He was rattled, because this wasn't just a family matter anymore. It was a business one.

"I didn't ask you to open a cold case, Lawrence," he said. "Just fix the problem."

"And I am," I snapped. "But this isn't just about the ring anymore. Amanda Kramer was hiding something. I found something in her file—"

"Whatever it is," he cut in, "keep it buried. You're not a detective. You're not a hero. You're a Dankworth. And next year, the Magnolia will have your name on every goddamn title deed and report. Start acting like it."

"I am acting like it," I said through gritted teeth. "That's why I haven't called the police. That's why I'm still here instead of flying to New York for that board meeting you were so keen on last week."

Another pause.

When he spoke again, his voice had dropped into something colder. "The board doesn't want emotional stories, Lawrence. They want clean resolutions. Quiet ones. If this turns into a scandal—if the press gets even a whisper of theft or employee misconduct—you know what that means for us."

I said nothing.

"You've always had potential," he said, almost kindly. "But potential means nothing if you let emotion run the show."

I stared out toward the far edge of the resort, where the coastline fell into a steep cliff and the waves battered stone like the world was trying to scrape something off its skin.

"This isn't emotion," I finally said. "It's instinct. Something about her doesn't add up. She has a daughter, Jana. I saw that girl. She doesn't look like a thief's kid."

"Then cut the rope before it wraps around your neck," my father warned. "I'm trusting you with this, Lawrence. Don't let me regret it."

The line went dead.

Classic. I exhaled sharply through my nose, reentered the office, and reached for the paper the manager was now holding out.

"Amanda Kramer's last known address," he said. "It's on the northern side of Lower Canningvale. Close to the cliffs. Not the safest part of the island."

No surprise there. Amanda Kramer had never lived a charmed life. I scanned the address, committing it to memory, and folded the page into my jacket pocket.

"I want someone there with me tonight. Quietly. No uniforms, no questions. If she's there, I want to know. If she's not, I want to know why."

"Understood."

I stood still for a long moment after he left the room. The lights inside the office reflected my face back at me in the glass, sharper, more tired than I remembered it being this morning. The weight of the resort, of legacy, of my family's expectations, all pressed inward like storm clouds building behind my ribs.

Amanda Kramer hadn't just vanished.

She'd left behind a puzzle.

And the pieces were mine to put together, before the wrong people noticed they were missing.

Tomorrow, I'd go to that house. I'd knock on every door. Ask questions no one wanted to answer. And when I found her, because I would, I'd demand the truth. About the ring. About her. About why a woman who had kept her head down for years suddenly decided to risk everything and run.

This wasn't about money. It never was. People didn't vanish over diamonds. They vanished over secrets.

And I was about to uncover hers.

No matter the cost.