Chương 54: Chapter 53: Going Public

After I crossed the gate, I immediately realized I'd indeed forgotten to lock my car. Thankfully, nobody had noticed. The car was still exactly where I'd left it. So were the files I'd left inside, which was considerably more important. I didn't have time to deal with either. Work was waiting in the morning, and by noon I was sitting in a police station with a cup of coffee I had no intention of drinking, looking at the file for my best friend. Arcene Evans. Missing person.

There was something deeply uncomfortable about seeing his name printed like that. The detective across from me turned another page.

"How long have you known him?"

"Years."

"And you were one of the last people to speak to him?"

"One of them." She looked up.

"You were also at his property after he disappeared."

"I've been there to assess the state of my client's property."

"And you're now asking questions about the investigation."

"I'm his friend."

"There a conflict of interest."

"Unfortunately. But that's for the judge to decide. As you can see, I am legally his lawyer." That got the smallest twitch at the corner of her mouth. She looked back down at the file.

"There's also a utilities charge on the property. Over three hundred thousand dollars. Thief Limited Gas & Electric is suing your client for the damage caused." I frowned.

"What damage?"

"Damage to public infrastructure." I stared at her.

"Three hundred thousand?"

"That's what they're claiming."

"Besides, if the infrastructure is public, wouldn't the city be the one bringing the claim?" She didn't answer.

"And more importantly, my friend is a victim here. His house disappeared. If the damage is connected to that incident, surely his insurance would be involved. Isn't a lawsuit a little premature?"

"That's what the lawsuit says." She closed the file halfway"As you said, those are questions for the judge." I leaned back.

"Fair enough." The detective closed the file completely.

"Your friend is missing. His property is under investigation. And now we've got an extraordinary utility bill attached to a house nobody can account for."

"That's certainly a combination."

"Where is he?" There it was. The question I'd been expecting since I sat down. I looked at the file again. At Arcene's name. At the photograph clipped to the front. At the little paper they'd attached about the connection to his mother's case. I knew exactly where he was. I also knew there wasn't a version of the truth I could give this woman that wouldn't sound completely insane. So I leaned back in my chair.

"I don't know." She watched me for a long moment. Then her expression changed.

"Alright, counselor. Let's put the cards on the table." She leaned forward.

"We know he messaged you this morning." My stomach tightened.

"He gave you an appointment at his property." A pause.

"Did he show up?" I held her gaze.

"I don't think I'm required to answer that." Her expression hardened slightly.

"I need you to cooperate, Mr. Mariano."

"I am cooperating."

"Then help me understand what happened to your client. It's in his best interest."

"And I'm doing everything I can to protect my client's interests." She stared at me. I sighed.

"Look, Detective. I'm not refusing to cooperate. I'm just not going to volunteer information about my client without knowing what you're actually investigating." She leaned back in her chair.

"Fair enough." I wasn't sure if she meant it.

"Then let me ask you something else." The questions continued for another hour. Mostly about Arcene. His disappearance. His habits. His friends. Then, inevitably, his mother. Where she'd gone. When she'd disappeared. Whether Arcene had ever talked to me about her case. Whether I knew anything that might connect the two disappearances. I answered what I could. Which wasn't much. By the time I left, I had the distinct impression that they didn't actually have anything.

Just a missing man, a bizarre property, an increasingly expensive utility claim, and pressure from one of the mayor's biggest patrons to find someone to blame. Not evidence. Pressure. Sometimes, as silly as it was, that was enough to keep a detective busy. The video went up while I was on the way back to the office. When I finally parked my car and had a second to look at my phone, there was an unread message from a friend. bro is this you. And underneath it, a link.

I opened it in the parking lot, one hand on the car door. I'd swung by my place to grab Susanoo between things, and his head was already sticking out of the window, completely unconcerned with whatever was happening on my phone. The video was dark and shaky. Someone had filmed it from across the street, holding their phone sideways—the kind of footage you take because you don't quite believe what you're seeing and want proof in case it disappears. Then the gate appeared.

A vertical tear of light, brighter than the streetlights around it, like someone had sliced the air open. And through it stepped a silhouette. A man. A dog. A bag over one shoulder. The gate closed behind them, smooth and silent. I watched it twice. Then a third time. The comments were exactly what you'd expect. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. edited. cgi. fake as fuck. look at the lighting lmao. I would have agreed with them.

If I hadn't been there. I looked up from the phone. Arcene's lot was on a busy street. A city bus passed in front of it every thirty minutes. Cars went by from time to time. People walked past. Someone had been almost guaranteed to see it. And apparently, someone had. The video was already spreading. I stood in the parking lot, traffic passing behind me, Susanoo still hanging his head out of the car window. I watched the number under the video tick upward.

And with the full weight of three years of law school and every bit of professional experience I had, I came to the only conclusion I could. There was no version of this that ended with a normal explanation. Once I was done with my work at the office, I drove to Léon's shop. I'd told myself I was going to get the appraisal done. That was the reason. The gold and gems we'd carried out needed a number attached to them before we could figure out how to move them through regular channels. Léon could do that.

He could also buy merchandise without asking too many questions. At a discount, of course. He owned a chain of jewelry shops across Europe, and the cheaper he acquired his materials, the larger his eventual profit. His shop was in one of the more luxurious parts of town, wedged between two designer handbag stores. You wouldn't expect a place like that to be involved in anything shady. But that's usually how these things worked.

People who needed businesses like Léon's tended to prefer businesses that looked respectable from the outside. Politicians. Criminals. People with enough money to make inconvenient questions disappear. Today, I needed his services too, and I wasn't going to look too closely at how he conducted his business while I was here to make a deal. I carried the briefcase inside. It was heavy. One of the clerks immediately came over.

"Good afternoon. How may I help you?"

"I need to see Léon."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Unfortunately, no." I looked down at the briefcase.

"But I was hoping he might make an exception for a friend bringing him business." Her eyes followed mine.

"May I know who's asking for him?"

"Mariano. Bill Mariano." She hesitated for half a second.

"Give me a moment. I'll see if he's available." She disappeared through the back door. I noticed her exchange a quick glance with one of the other clerks before she went through. She returned less than a minute later.

"Mr. Léon will see you. Please follow me." When I got into his office, Léon was sitting at his desk, polishing something with a cloth.

"Bill," he said, looking up with a smile.

"What brings a local celebrity like you to my shop today?"

"A local celebrity?"

"You didn't watch the video?"

"I watch a lot of videos. You're going to have to be more specific." He laughed.

"Ok, fair enough. My clerk tells me you're here to bring me business, so let's start with that. What did you bring me?" I put the briefcase on his desk and opened it. His eyebrows rose.

"Oh." He leaned forward.

"That's quite a bit of business."

"There's a lot more, this is just a sample."

"That's what I like to hear." He picked up one of the gold cubes and turned it over in his fingers.

"Very nice. Though I have to ask..." He looked at the case.

"Why did you put the gold and gemstones together like this?"

"Because it was the container I had." He gave me an almost offended look.

"Look at this poor gold. The gems have been scratching it all over."

"I'll try to remember that for the next time."

"Please do." He put the cube down and picked up one of the transparent stones.

"Now, let's see what we've got." He reached for his loupe.

"Do you know what these are?"

"No."

"Good. I like a little mystery." He examined the first stone, weighed it, made a note, then moved to the next.

"Moissanite." Another.

"Moissanite." Another.

"Same." He continued through the transparent stones, occasionally checking the weight and making a note. Then he picked up one of the larger stones. He looked through the loupe.

"Diamond." He turned it beneath the light.

"Definitely." He picked up the second.

"Also diamond." He placed both carefully on the tray.

"Those I can price immediately."

"Will you need to know where they came from?"

"For the paperwork, but that part is more about being creative. Leave it to me."

"That's perfect." He picked up another clear stone.

"This one is a moissanite as well." He put it down and reached for one of the red gems. The change in his expression was immediate. He turned the stone beneath the light. Then again. He checked it with the loupe. He weighed it. He picked up another. Then another. His eyebrows slowly drew together.

"Bill."

"Yes?"

"Where did you get these?"

"I'm sorry, Léon, but the provenance has to remain confidential." He nodded slowly.

"I understand." He looked back at the stone.

"But that's going to make this difficult."

"Because you need to know where they were mined?"

"Partly." He held the stone up again.

"But mostly because I genuinely don't know what I'm looking at." That got my attention.

"You don't know?"

"I don't recognize the material." He turned it over again.

"The color is wrong for what I'm thinking. The structure doesn't match anything I know. And I can't even begin to tell you what kind of deposit would produce something like this without knowing where it came from." He looked at me.

"I've seen some unusual stones in my time, Bill. This is not one I can put a name to."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"Why?"

"Because I doubt you'd believe me if I told you where they came from." He glanced toward the gold coins. Then toward the engraving on one of them. Finally, his eyes returned to me.

"Considering the coins..." He paused.

"... and the video that's been circulating today..." I said nothing. A small smile appeared on his face.

"I think I have an idea."

"Do you?"

"An absolutely ridiculous idea." He chuckled. And placed the stone on the tray.

"I'll take the gold and the transparent stones. The diamonds, the moissanite."

"And the others?"

"I'd like to keep them for a few days."

"To figure out what they are?"

"Exactly." He looked almost offended by the stones now.

"I want to know what these things are."

"That's fine."

"I won't give you a price for them yet. I can't honestly tell you what they're worth when I don't even know what they are."

"I understand." He reached for his notes.

"Then let's start with the things I can identify." He looked up.

"How would you like to be paid?"

"Cash." His smile widened.

"Of course." He disappeared through the back door. qw A few minutes later, he returned with the clerk I'd spoken to earlier. She was pushing a trolley with two cardboard boxes stacked on top. I stared at them. Léon smiled.

"Don't worry. I promise this is the less suspicious part." That did not reassure me. He placed the boxes beside the desk and handed me a receipt.

"Let's go through it." The clerk opened the first box. Bundles of banknotes appeared. A lot of them. Léon went through the figures line by line while she counted the cash onto the desk.

"The two diamonds. One point forty-five million euros." A thick bundle landed in front of me.

"My thirty percent handling fee leaves you with one million fifteen thousand." I stared at the pile. Léon continued as though nothing unusual had happened.

"The moissanite isn't particularly valuable. Eight stones, approximately ten carats each. Colorless. Just under five thousand euros." He waved a hand.

"I'll waive my fee on those. Consider it a courtesy for letting me hold the unidentified stones for a few days."

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it." He glanced back at the receipt.

"Now, the big one." I looked down. Gold — €4. 16 million. For a moment, I wondered if I'd read it wrong. Léon didn't give me time to check.

"My usual ten percent on precious metals brings that down to just over three point seven million." Another bundle landed on the desk. Then another. The pile kept growing.

"And that brings your total to just under five million euros." He looked up.

"Satisfied?" I stared at the mountain of cash in front of me. For once, I had absolutely nothing clever to say.

"It's perfect." The words escaped my mouth on their own. Léon smiled.

"I thought it might." He gestured toward the boxes.

"And naturally, the cardboard is free." I looked at the boxes, then back at him.

"How generous."

"I know. It's a good deal." I laughed and started gathering the receipt and the money.

"Thanks, Léon."

"Don't thank me yet. Come back in a few days and I'll tell you what those red stones are."

"I'll hold you to that."

"You'd better." I closed the briefcase.

"See you soon."

"Hopefully with something else I can't identify."

"I'll see what I can do." He laughed.

"Get out of my office before I start charging you for the coffee." Finding the people was another problem entirely. The list we'd made wasn't exactly something I could hand to a normal recruitment agency. Farmers. Someone who understood network infrastructure. Security. Translators. And eventually, if we were serious about building anything here, mechanics, electricians, medical staff and engineers. And that was assuming we were starting small. I couldn't exactly post the jobs online.

"Farmer wanted. Must be comfortable relocating to another world."

"Network engineer required. Internet connection behaves strangely because the other side runs at a different speed."

"Security personnel wanted. Must be willing to guard a magical portal." That wasn't going to work. I needed someone who could find people quietly. Fortunately, I knew where to start. A few years ago, one of my clients had been caught hiring an industrial spy. I had represented him through the mess that followed. The case had been ugly, expensive, and very educational about how many things could be called "corporate intelligence" when nobody wanted to use the word espionage.

The people he'd hired had come through a firm. I still had the number of the man who'd handled the account. Officially, they did executive recruitment and corporate intelligence. Unofficially, they specialized in finding people who weren't particularly interested in being found — people with useful skills, expensive problems, and a sudden need for a very large pile of cash, but who weren't quite willing to cross all the way to the dark side. I wasn't looking for criminals.

I was looking for people who had already decided money was worth taking a few risks for. I called the firm. A receptionist answered.

"Corporate Intelligence."

"I'm looking for Mr. [name]."

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Bill Mariano." There was a pause.

"One moment." A different voice came on.

"Mr. Mariano?"

"Yes."

"It's been a while."

"It has. I need to discuss a recruitment matter."

"What sort?"

"Unusual enough that I'd rather discuss it in person." A short pause.

"When?"

"Tonight."

"I'll have someone meet you."

"Thank you." And that was it. The office was in one of those buildings where the marble was spotless, the furniture was expensive, and everything about the place suggested that their clients didn't usually ask what their services cost. I was shown into a private meeting room. The man I was here to meet was already waiting. We shook hands.

"Mr. Mariano."

"Good to see you again."

"It's been a while."

"It has." He gestured toward the chair opposite him.

"Please, have a seat." I sat down and placed my folder on the table.

"I understand you're looking for some assistance."

"That's right."

"Your message was rather vague."

"That was intentional." A faint smile crossed his face.

"I assumed as much. Tell me what you need. I'll see what I can do." I opened the folder and slid the list across the table.

"I need agricultural specialists. People who understand large-scale farming, not just gardening. Someone who understands network infrastructure. Security personnel. Linguists." He looked over the list.

"That's quite a spread."

"It gets worse." His eyes moved farther down the page.

"Mechanics. Electricians. Medical personnel. Engineers." He looked back at me.

"How many people are we talking about?"

"I don't know yet."

"You don't know?"

"Not yet." He studied me for a moment, then looked at the list again.

"All right. Where are they going?"

"That's confidential."

"I assumed it would be."

"Remote."

"How remote?"

"Very." He leaned back slightly.

"And you're expecting them to stay there?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Possibly indefinitely." That made him pause. He looked at the list again, this time for considerably longer.

"You've got something very strange going on."

"You have no idea." A small smile crossed his face.

"Fair enough." He tapped the paper with one finger.

"I can find the qualifications," he said.

"The difficult part will be finding people willing to accept the rest."

"Which rest?"

"Remote location. Indefinite contract. Limited information. And compensation high enough to make all of that worthwhile."

"That's why I'm here."

"Then I'll need a budget, some basic criteria, and an idea of how flexible you are on location and compensation."

"I can give you all three."

"Good." He closed the folder.

"I'll start with the easier profiles and see what comes back. Give me a week." I nodded.

"And Mr. Mariano?"

"Yes?"

"You understand that the more unusual the requirements, the harder it becomes to keep the candidates from asking questions."

"I understand."

"Good." He stood and offered his hand.

"I'll see what I can find." I shook it.

"That's all I need." He gave me a small nod.

"And for what it's worth, whatever you're getting yourself into..." He glanced once more at the list.

"... I hope you're paying them enough."

"I intend to." He nodded.

"Then we should get along just fine." It was late by the time I got home. Near midnight. Susanoo was asleep on the rug, tail over his face. My work laptop was open on the table, three unread briefs glowing at me, and the court appearance on Tuesday was a shape on the calendar I'd been running from all day. I sat down and looked at my phone again. The video was still climbing. Tens of thousands of views now. And suddenly the problem wasn't just that someone had filmed the gate. They'd filmed me coming out of it.

Anyone who knew Arcene, or knew I'd been close to him, only had to look at that footage for a few seconds to start asking questions. The police already had my name. They already knew I'd been at Arcene's property and had been in contact with him. Now the internet had a strange video of me walking out of his property that looked like CGI. I put the phone down. There was only one person I could talk to about this who'd understand. I picked up the phone again and typed with two thumbs, the way we'd always texted.

Dude, we screwed up. I hit send.