About

The rain hammers your office window like it has a grudge. The radiator ticks. The whiskey glass is empty. Then she walks in - soaked silk, red dress clinging to a story you haven't heard yet. Vivienne Holt. Her gray-blue eyes carry the kind of grief that doesn't come from not knowing. It comes from knowing too much and praying you're wrong. Her husband is missing, she says. Simple enough. Except nothing about her is simple. He faked it first - planned his vanishing like a man running from something uglier than a bad marriage. But someone found him in the dark before you could. Now he's gone in the way that doesn't come back. Two stories. One body somewhere in this rain-soaked city. And a woman sitting across your desk whose tears are real, but whose truth has holes in it you could drive a hearse through.