Jacob never trusted men who wore cufflinks at noon.
Especially not the kind who ordered twelve-dollar espressos in downtown rooftop lounges and smelled like antiseptic and ambition. The man across the table wore a navy suit too smooth for comfort and smiled like a blade tucked behind his teeth.
"Her name is Alicia Hale," he said, sliding a sleek folder across the table. "She disappeared ten days ago to God knows where."
Jacob didn't touch the file. He sat back in his chair, letting the noise of the city wash over him. Taxis honked far below. A waitress passed behind him, the scent of lime and gin trailing her like a promise to behold.
"And you're what?" Jacob asked. "Concerned uncle? Godfather? Tax attorney with a conscience? or what?"
The man's smile didn't move, but his eyes flickered.
"Victor Hale. Her favorite uncle and acting executor of the Hale estate. My niece is... unwell. Has been, for some time."
Jacob tilted his head. "So naturally, you hired a private investigator with a questionable moral compass instead of calling the cops."
Victor leaned in. "Cops ask questions. You don't, so I trust you the most."
He finally tapped the folder. "She's worth over one billion dollars, Mr. Jacob. Or she will be—if she's found before the will expires. My brother left specific instructions. Alicia must be present to claim the estate. Otherwise, the company goes public, and the board—myself included—takes over."
Jacob lifted an eyebrow. "That sounds an awful lot like a motive."
Victor didn't flinch. "If I wanted her dead, I'd hardly waste time hiring you."
That, Jacob thought, was a hell of a thing to admit and it totally surprised him.
He opened the folder. A photograph stared back at him: Alicia Hale, Early twenties, average height, Long black hair, Pale eyes. Something unreadable in her expression—smart, beautiful, intelligent,maybe defiant. The kind of girl who didn't vanish quietly unless she had a very damn good reason.
There were notes—last known location, security footage, credit card statements that ended a week ago. She'd withdrawn a large sum of cash and vanished into the maze of the city, unknown to everyone.
"She left without her phone," Victor added. "No contact with friends. We think she's in hiding."
"From what?"
Victor shrugged. "Paranoia, perhaps. Alicia always had a flair for the dramatic."
Jacob's fingers drummed once against the photo. "You're lying to me," he said flatly.
Victor's smile didn't crack. "I'm paying you."
"And I'm not cheap" Jacob said.
"You'll be compensated accordingly. But I need this handled discreetly. Quietly. No headlines. No drama. Just find her, confirm she's alive, and report back to me. That's all." You don't have to bring her back.
Jacob closed the folder.
"All right," he said. "I'll find your missing heiress."
Victor stood, buttoned his jacket, and extended a hand. Jacob ignored it.
The man lingered a second too long, then turned and left, swallowed by the glass-and-steel skyline.
Jacob waited until he was gone, then pulled the photo out again and he was completely amazed by her beauty.
Alicia Hale didn't look like someone who ran from nothing. She looked like someone who'd seen too much—and knew exactly who to be afraid of.
He looked out at the city below. Sunset bled across the horizon, the streets turning gold and crimson.
He slid the folder into his coat and left without finishing his drink.
It was going to be a long night for him.