Chapter 2 #2
The precinct bullpen was a dull hum of ringing phones and clicking keyboards, but Isabel barely heard any of it.
Her eyes were fixed on the mountain of documents in front of her, her fingers drumming absently on the desk as she read through line after line of personnel files.
Background checks were tedious work, the kind of thing that could make a detective’s brain turn to mush if they weren’t careful.
But if there was one thing Isabel had learned in Chicago, it was that answers were always buried in the details. The trick was knowing where to dig.
She rubbed her temples and forced herself to focus.
Start simple. Look for patterns. Look for the outliers.
Most of the gala staff were just regular people picking up a paycheck.
Henry Walcott – Bartender
Age: 27
DUI charge eight years ago, dismissed
Married, two kids
Maya Richardson – Event Coordinator
Age: 42
No criminal record
Works two jobs
Divorced, sole custody of teenage son
Nothing suspicious. No debts, no criminal history, no connection to Lily Harper or her company. Isabel skimmed through a dozen more names, her frustration mounting. Then something caught her eye.
Daniel Keene – Head Caterer
Filed for bankruptcy – Four months ago
Foreclosure on home – Three months ago
Maxed out credit cards, multiple unpaid loans
She sat up straighter, rubbing her thumb against her jaw as she read through his file again. Bankruptcy wasn’t unusual—especially in the food industry—but the timing was interesting. He’d lost everything just months before catering an event for one of the wealthiest women in the country.
Could he be planning to ask for a ransom? She rolled the idea around in her head, chewing on the end of her pen.
Desperation makes people reckless. If he saw an opportunity to snatch a millionaire’s kid and cash in, would he take it?
Maybe. But something didn’t sit right.
She flipped over to his employment history.
Keene had been a caterer for nearly two decades, with a solid reputation.
No arrests, no history of violence, no whispers of shady dealings.
If he were in trouble, a ransom would make sense, but why take a risk this big when there were easier ways to make money?
Still, she wasn’t about to dismiss him. She jotted his name down in her notebook and moved on.
Half an hour later, after scanning another dozen names, her vision was starting to blur. She sighed, rolling out her shoulders, and cracked her knuckles before pulling out the last batch of staff members.
And that’s when she found it.
Kara Delaney – Server
No criminal history
Address: Westbridge Apartments, Phoenix Ridge
Emergency contact: Veronica Delaney
Relation: Cousin
Isabel stilled.
The name Veronica Delaney hit her like a slap.
She turned to her computer, searching to cross-reference, double-checking. Veronica Delaney—Lily Harper’s ex-girlfriend.
Isabel exhaled slowly, staring at the screen. That breakup had been ugly. Public, messy, the kind of fallout that made for viral news cycles and bitter restraining orders. The two had been inseparable for years, but when things soured, they really soured.
The media had painted Veronica as the scorned woman, desperate to hold on. Allegations of stalking, emotional outbursts, showing up at HarperTech events uninvited. It had all ended with Lily filing for a restraining order and Veronica disappearing from the public eye.
And now her cousin had been working the gala where Chloe Harper disappeared?
Isabel leaned back, pressing her knuckles against her lips. This changed things. If Kara had helped take Chloe, this wasn’t just about money. It was personal.
She tapped her fingers against the desk, flipping back to the security footage stills. The SUV. The fire drill. The chaos.
Was Kara just a pawn in something bigger? Or was she the key?
Isabel didn’t have the answers yet. But she knew one thing for sure—this case just got a hell of a lot more interesting.
She grabbed her notebook, scribbling down both names before pushing back from her desk.
It was time to see what Victoria thought about all this. Isabel glanced at the time on the corner of her monitor—8:02 AM.
She had fifty-eight minutes before the meeting.
She hated waiting.
The bullpen was a steady hum of voices and ringing phones, but the noise barely registered. Her mind was fixed on the names circled in her notebook: Daniel Keene. Kara Delaney.
She tapped her pen against the desk, flipping back and forth between the staff files, trying to make sense of the connections.
Was she reaching? Maybe. But something about these two wasn’t sitting right.
If Keene was involved, the motive was clear—money.
He was drowning in debt and could be looking for a way out. But Kara Delaney? That was different.
The fact that she was Veronica Delaney’s cousin could mean nothing. Or it could mean everything.
Isabel exhaled, running a hand through her hair.
She needed to be smart about how she brought this up in the meeting.
She was still the new detective, still proving herself.
Coming in with wild theories and nothing solid to back them up wasn’t going to win her any points.
Victoria Langley didn’t seem like the type to tolerate guesswork.
She glanced at the time again. 8:47 AM. Close enough.
She shoved her notebook under her arm and pushed back from her desk, making her way toward the conference room. The weight of the case file in her hands felt heavier than it should.
As she walked, the low murmur of precinct chatter faded to background noise. Darcy was already inside when she arrived, leaning against the table with her arms crossed, reviewing notes. A few other detectives sat scattered around, sipping from their coffee cups, waiting for the meeting to start.
Victoria stood near the front, focused on her tablet, her expression unreadable.
Isabel slid into a chair near the middle of the table, setting her notebook down with a quiet thud. She exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders.
Time to see if this was worth bringing to the table.
The briefing had barely started when Isabel leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Captain, I’ve gotta ask - are we absolutely sure this is a professional job?”
Victoria’s gaze snapped to her. “Excuse me?”
Isabel gestured toward the case file. “The setup feels messy. If this were a high-level operation, we wouldn’t have security footage of the getaway car.
The fire drill wasn’t precise - it was chaotic.
And there’s no ransom demand yet. If this were Iron Fang, wouldn’t they have planned this down to the second? ”
A few officers exchanged glances. Darcy, still seated at the table, let out a quiet breath through her nose.
Victoria set down the stylus she’d been using to highlight key details on the digital board. Slowly, deliberately, she turned to Isabel.
“Detective Torres,” she said, voice smooth but edged with steel. “You transferred here from Chicago, correct?”
Isabel frowned slightly. “Yeah.”
“Then let me make something clear,” Victoria continued. “Phoenix Ridge isn’t Chicago. You don’t know this city the way I do. And you sure as hell don’t know Iron Fang the way I do.”
The room went still.
“If this were a sloppy job by some amateur looking for a payday, they wouldn’t have gotten Chloe Harper out of that hotel undetected,” Victoria continued.
“No one noticed the fire drill wasn’t real until she was already gone.
No one saw her taken. And just because we have an image of the SUV doesn’t mean it was a mistake. It means they don’t care.”
Isabel’s jaw tightened, but she held Victoria’s stare. “Still. If we focus only on the syndicate angle, we might miss something.”
Victoria stepped closer, her expression unreadable. “Then do your job. If you find another lead, bring it to me. Until then, we work the angle that makes the most sense.”
The message was clear: You haven’t earned the right to question me yet.
Darcy cleared her throat. “All right, we’ve got assignments. Let’s move.”
Isabel stayed seated a second longer, flipping through the file as the other officers stood. She might have pushed too hard, too soon - but she wasn’t wrong to ask the question.
She just needed to find a way to prove it.
The meeting had barely wrapped up when Victoria strode out of the conference room, her expression set in that cool, unreadable mask she wore so well. The way she carried herself—spine straight, steps purposeful—made it clear she wasn’t in the mood for further debate.
Too bad.
Isabel pushed back from her chair and followed, weaving through the lingering officers as they dispersed. She caught up just as Victoria reached her office door, her hand already on the handle.
“You got a minute, Captain?”
Victoria didn’t sigh, but Isabel could tell she wanted to. She turned just enough to fix Isabel with an unimpressed look, one brow arched. “You have more to say, Detective Torres?”
Isabel crossed her arms, rocking back on her heels. “I do.”
Victoria exhaled, opening the door and stepping inside, leaving it open just enough for Isabel to take that as permission to follow.
The office was as meticulous as Isabel had expected—sleek furniture, carefully arranged files, not a single thing out of place. A stark contrast to the low hum of frustration Isabel could feel rolling off Victoria.
Victoria rounded her desk but didn’t sit. Instead, she placed her hands against the polished wood surface, fingers splayed, and leveled Isabel with a look that was all authority. “Go on.”
Isabel tilted her head slightly, taking in the tension in Victoria’s posture—the rigid set of her shoulders, the way her jaw tightened ever so slightly. She was still irritated from the meeting.
Good. That made two of them.
“I want to go interview the gala staff,” Isabel said, keeping her voice even. “Starting with the caterer and the servers. And I want you to come with me.”