Days turned into nights, and Damien’s world grew quieter, heavier — the kind of silence that pressed against the ribs like a slow suffocation.
Graham’s report finally arrived, but instead of answers, it brought only frustration.
The surveillance footage from Club Mirabel was gone. Not corrupted. Not damaged. Erased.
Every drive, every backup — wiped clean.
The police files, supposedly archived for the murder investigation, were “lost during system transfer.” The statements that once existed from the club’s employees were all mysteriously redacted.
Someone had gone to great lengths to bury the truth.
Damien stood by his office window, the city skyline casting reflections across his face, his expression unreadable. He gripped the report so tightly that the papers creased beneath his fi
