Chapter 3 Jackpot

Charlie looked at her for a long moment.

It wasn't her beauty that captivated him anymore, though she was undeniably striking. It was the cool fire in her tone, the way she could wrap a confession in elegance and make you think it was a compliment. Veronica Babel was no fool. She was someone who had survived her husband's world, maybe even thrived in it. But something had cracked that world.

And now, she was here.

"I see," Charlie finally said, leaning forward. "So he never just disappears?"

"Never. He has a schedule. An image. He doesn't ghost people-he leaves trails. Credit card receipts, flight logs, leaked photos... always some kind of evidence."

"And this time?"

"Nothing. No emails. No calls. Not even a secret text. His cards haven't been used since last Thursday. No activity on his private accounts either. It's like he vanished into smoke."

Charlie considered this. He glanced at the wall clock-still frozen at 9:12-and made a mental note to finally get it fixed.

He looked back at her, and after a pause, he said it plainly. "I'll take the case."

Veronica raised an eyebrow.

"But it's going to cost you," he added with a thin smile.

"How much?"

Charlie tapped his fingers on the desk, pretending to think. "Five hundred thousand. Upfront."

There was no hesitation. No gasp. No raised voice.

Veronica simply reached into her purse, pulled out her phone, and typed a few things with perfectly manicured fingers.

A moment later, Charlie's phone buzzed. He picked it up, saw the notification from his banking app, and blinked.

Transfer received: $500,000.00 CAD.

He tried to play it cool, but his voice cracked just a little when he said, "Well. That was fast."

Veronica stood, extended her hand again. This time, he took it.

Her palm was warm and soft, but her grip was firm. No rings. No trace of perfume. She smelled faintly of jasmine and something sharp, like pine.

"We have a deal," she said.

Charlie nodded. "We do."

She let go. "I'll send you everything I have. Emails, his phone records, photos. I expect results."

"You'll have them," he said, suddenly standing straighter than he had in weeks.

Veronica gave one final glance around the office. "You should fix that clock," she said as she turned to leave.

He watched the door close behind her.

The office was quiet again, but the silence had changed. No longer dull and heavy-it was charged. Like something big had just begun.

Charlie walked over to the window again, looking out at the city.

Veronica Babel.

A missing billionaire husband.

Half a million in the bank.

It felt like life had just handed him a second chance. Or maybe just another mystery wrapped in diamonds and lipstick.

As he sipped his now-cold coffee, Charlie muttered to himself, "Let's just hope this one doesn't end with someone dead."

He sat back in his squeaky chair, letting its worn springs groan under his weight as he stared at the bank notification glowing on his phone screen.

The numbers shimmered like some digital mirage. Half a million Canadian dollars. The kind of sum he'd only seen in crime boss wire transfers and the occasional embezzlement case.

But this-this was clean, legitimate, sitting in his account like an old friend who finally decided to come home. For a moment, the air in his office seemed to shift, no longer heavy with overdue bills and broken promises.

He could almost smell the relief, like coffee after a stormy night. His thumb hovered over the screen, as if touching it too long might make the numbers vanish. But they didn't. They sat there, bold and quiet. Real. He let out a low whistle, the kind that came from deep in his chest.

"For once," he muttered, almost afraid to say it aloud, "maybe I can breathe easy."

It felt like someone had loosened a vice around his life. Just like that, survival didn't feel like a daily battle.

His fingers began to drum against the cracked armrest, a rhythm of cautious optimism. Rent for the next six months? Handled. No more slipping envelopes under the landlord's door like a fugitive. Office bills? Paid. No more ghosting calls from the electric company or hiding from the internet provider like he was on the run. That loan shark named Manny-the one with gold teeth and dead eyes? Done. The weight of Manny's threats, the late-night knocks, the not-so-subtle warnings-they could finally disappear into memory.

Charlie allowed himself a rare moment of fantasy. He could replace the cursed coffee maker that spat more steam than brew. He could even get a new desk chair, one that didn't cry out like a dying animal every time he leaned back. The thought made him chuckle. Maybe even a chair with a massage function, just to tempt fate. A crooked grin crept across his face, not forced for once, but real.

"Maybe I'll even take a vacation," he said to no one in particular, "somewhere warm. Somewhere far." But as the comfort crept in, it was chased away just as fast.

Curiosity, that old familiar itch, returned. And with it, a colder thought. Veronica Babel. Her name still echoed in his head like a whisper with sharp edges. Beautiful? Absolutely. Composed? Unnervingly so. Mysterious? Beyond measure. She was the kind of woman who didn't merely walk into a room-she arrived.

Like a storm wrapped in silk, announcing herself without saying a word. He couldn't shake her image. The way she'd perched in the chair across from him like she'd been there a hundred times before. How her posture had commanded the space, her confidence saturating the air like expensive perfume.

Her voice lingered in his ears, low and deliberate, like velvet hiding something cold and metallic beneath. She was a woman men chased and regretted. A riddle wrapped in luxury. And yet... he'd never heard of her. Nor her husband. Not even a whisper.

And that silence-it didn't sit right.