Chapter 5 - Paradise LostHalfway across the world, in a luxury resort in Bali, the humidity was thick enough to choke on.
Trevor sat on the private balcony of the oceanfront villa, a glass of iced gin in his hand, watching the waves crash against the black volcanic sand. Vanessa was inside, unpacking her designer swimsuits and humming a sultry tune.
Everything was going according to plan.
Except for one minor detail: his phone had been uncomfortably quiet.
Normally, by day four of a fake business trip, Naomi would have called at least twice, sounding stressed, lonely, or slightly defensive. She would have complained about Bailey’s math homework or asked where he put the spare furnace filters.
Instead? Nothing.
No texts. No missed calls. Not even a passive-aggressive WhatsApp message asking if he was eating his vegetables.
Trevor frowned, pulling up his messaging app. He tapped on Naomi’s name.
Last seen: Tuesday.
He scoffed, taking a sip of his drink. She’s sulking, he thought with a smug smile. Good. Let her sit in that quiet house and realize how miserable she is without me.
Just then, his phone buzzed violently.
An email notification.
He tapped it, expecting an update from his regional VP in Singapore about the conference keynote.
Instead, it was a notification from Vantage Pharma HR.
Subject: Urgent - Compliance Review Required.
Trevor’s heart skipped a beat. He opened the email. It was a brief, chilling message from the ethics board stating that an anonymous dossier containing corporate policy violations and misuse of company expense accounts had been submitted to the executive committee. His corporate credit card had been temporarily frozen pending an investigation.
“What the hell?” Trevor muttered, his skin turning clammy despite the tropical heat.
He tried to log into his work portal.
Access Denied. Credentials Invalid.
“Babe?” Vanessa called out, stepping onto the balcony in a silk robe, holding two flutes of champagne. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Trevor didn't answer. His fingers flew across his phone screen as he dialed his home number.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
It went straight to voicemail.
He tried his cell phone. Your mailbox is full and cannot accept new messages.
A cold sweat broke out across the back of his neck. The humid air suddenly felt like a cage.
“Get your things,” Trevor snapped, standing up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the stone deck.
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“What? Are you crazy? We have dinner on the beach in an hour!” Vanessa protested, her jaw dropping.
“We’re going home,” Trevor said, his voice cracking with sudden, unadulterated panic. “Something’s wrong.”
