CRASH.
The heavy crystal tumbler shattered against the mahogany paneling, spraying amber liquid and shards of glass across the pristine office floor.
"Incompetent! Every single one of them!"
Reginald Vanderbilt, the eldest son of the Vanderbilt line, stood behind his massive desk, his chest heaving, his face a mask of flushed, impotent fury.
He swept a stack of documents off the table with a violent backhand. Papers fluttered through the air like dying birds... intelligence reports, surveillance logs, private investigator summaries.
Every single one of them ended with the same three words: Current Location: Unknown.
"She vanishes," Reginald snarled, gripping the edge of his desk until his knuckles turned white. "Just when we had her cornered. Just when I was about to get what I deserve... what was stolen from me... She vanished."
He slammed his fist onto the leather chair.
