Chapter 5 - The Midnight Invitation
At 11:45 PM, my phone buzzed on the mahogany desk in my private study.
The caller ID flashed a single name: Victor.
I stared at the screen for three long rings, letting the silence build before sliding my thumb across the glass to accept the call.
"Julian," Victor’s smooth, cultured voice drifted through the speaker, carrying the faint background chime of jazz music and clinking crystal glasses. "Working late again, brother? You really need to find a hobby outside of shipping ledgers and whiskey."
"I'm looking at the Q3 projections for the Pacific route," I replied, my tone flat, devoid of any warmth. "Numbers don't sleep, Victor."
"True, true," Victor chuckled softly on the other end. "Speaking of numbers, I'm actually hosting a small, very exclusive gathering at my penthouse tonight. Just a few board members and associates. I know you rarely step out for social things anymore, but... something important has come up regarding the European merger. I think you need to be here."
My fingers tightened around the phone. A trap? Or a summons?
"What kind of important?" I asked.
"Let's just say... a piece of the puzzle you’ve been trying to solve for two years has conveniently fallen into my lap," Victor said, his voice dropping into a smooth, conspiratorial purr. "A witness. Someone who claims to know what happened to your little girl."
The blood rushed violently in my ears. He was dangling the bait. He knew I couldn't resist. Whether it was a genuine loose end or a setup to eliminate me once and for all, Victor was finally making his move.
"Send me the address," I said coldly.
"I knew you'd see reason," Victor replied, a note of triumph slipping past his polite facade. "Come alone, Julian. Leave the heavy security outside. This is a private family matter."
The line went dead.
I dropped the phone onto the desk and turned around. Clara was standing in the shadows of my study doorway, holding a small, polished wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
Lily's music box.
"You heard?" I asked.
"Every word," Clara whispered, stepping into the dim light. She placed the music box on my desk and gently unlatched the lid. It didn't play a lullaby. Instead, as the mechanism clicked into place, a hidden false bottom in the wood sprang open with a soft snap.
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Inside rested a tarnished silver key and a thumb drive labeled with a single handwritten date: October 14.
"This is it," Clara said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "The key to the safety deposit box at the Federal Trust downtown, and the digital proof of everything Victor has stolen—and who he sold your daughter to."
