At a round table, one distinguished looking man sat, alone. Just fifteen minutes ago, the table was lively with debate and discussion. It was quiet now.

The man sighed deeply. He pulled together many all-nighters preparing the evidence for this case, hoping for the slight chance that one of the keystone detectives would pick it up. After an hour of conflict, due to this reason and that, each detective turned him down. Their reasons were valid. The case was a challenging one, and required much more firepower than a few men in trench coats could provide. They found the chief’s unwillingness to seek outside help a hindrance, and they were already booked plenty with their own evil plants to uproot. A few decided to consider it, after their current cases were resolved of course. The chief didn’t say it, but he didn’t have much time to afford. 

He didn’t care about their cases at that moment. He cared only about fixing the problem he started. He looked down at the stacks of papers extensively detailing the current know-abouts of the problem, sticky-notes messily applied through and through, highlights in all directions in many colors. It was like a child’s art project.

There were knocks at the door. The chief didn’t respond. The visitor let herself in.

A woman about mid-thirties walked in. Her heels clicked with every resounding step. The sound echoed in the vast, empty room, landing on the eardrums of one desperate chief of investigation.

“So,” she said, her voice mixed with disappointment and an I-told-you-so. “Are you going to give him a call now?”

The chief of investigation looked at her. This woman wore a dark business dress, slightly on the pink side, as if mocking him. She looked beautiful, as always. With glasses that accentuates her disciplined and candor attitude, she exuded all the marks of a great secretary. She was the chief’s daughter, his pride and joy.

Right now, however, he did not want to see her. He wished she would go to a faraway land, elope with some handsome foreigner, and visit only twice a year, obligatorily, for holidays. In short, he wanted to be alone.

Yet, at these moments, she always denied him the opportunity. He sighed once more, and scratched his beard. He thought of saying something, but realized he already lost the battle as soon as she walked in. She was a worse opponent of words than her mother. Such are confident women, he thought, slightly regretting his life decisions.

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He picked up the rotary and dialed a number, lethargically. Why he still used a rotary, and the same rotary since she could remember, the secretary did not know. She smiled nonetheless at her swift victory of persuasion.

The chief waited. Each second ticking on his watch felt like a punch to the gut. To think that the case that Marianus brought that the chief personally neglected actually spiraled into something sinister… And it’s the chief’s own fault for not taking the proper measures, for underestimating the investigative journalist. After all, he is but a lowly journalist! But for him to pick up something none of the keystone investigators nor the police noticed is enough of a testament to his abilities and his outlandishly strange curiosity for the smallest of slivers. 

“Hello. You have reached the voicemail of investigative journalist Marianus Actorius-Romilius. And yes, that is my full name. Please leave a message after the tone—”

A thorough beep sounded. The chief held the phone close to his face.

“Hello Marianus, it’s Abel.” Silence ensued, and then a sigh. “The location is the Calpine Woods thirty miles east of London. You have three days to prepare before they switch locations again…” The chief hesitated. “Thank you for your help… and I’m sorry.”

He hung up. His face curved downward, as if every feature was frowning under a heavy weight. His shoulders slouched.

“Sascha?” the chief pleaded.

“Yes, father?”

“You’re going with him, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Will you reconsider otherwise?”

“I’m going.”

“Not even for a pay raise?”

“That sounds tempting.” The secretary imitated a look of deep thought. “I’ve considered it, and I’m afraid not. You can always raise my pay regardless.”

“Hah. If I do that, all the other secretaries will accuse me of favoritism. You know how suspicious they can get.”

“It’s their problem for not being born the daughter of a chief of investigation,” the secretary joked.

Silence ensued.

“You know how dangerous this will get, right?”

“I might die.”

“So you’re aware. Yet, you still want to go?”

“I do.”

“Do you love him that much?”

The secretary thought deeply about this. “I love interesting cases more.”

The chief sat dumbfounded. Ah, he complained, this is the problem with confident women. They’re so amazingly steadfast.

The chief hugged his daughter. He hugged her tight, as if it was his last embrace. It was an embrace of a last breath.

“Godspeed,” he said.