Truth

The cool night air was a welcome relief as Alex and Veronica stepped away from the masquerade, the sounds of laughter and music fading into a distant hum. The darkness wrapped around them like a heavy cloak, the moon casting a silvery glow on the cobblestone streets.

“What now?” Veronica asked, her breath visible in the chilly air. “They were asking about you. This isn’t just some idle curiosity anymore.”

“I know,” I replied, rubbing the back of my neck as I tried to shake off the tension that clung to me. “Calhoun’s not going to let this go. We have to dig deeper into Gregory’s life — his connections, his enemies. Someone wanted him dead, and I’m willing to bet that it’s linked to whatever he was involved in.”

Veronica nodded, her expression grave. “I’ll try to reach out to my contact, see if they can provide any information about Fane’s business dealings. If there’s a pattern of conflict, we need to know about it.”

I glanced at her, grateful for her unwavering support. “Good idea. I’ll see if I can find any old news articles or police reports that might give us clues about his past. We have to figure out who had the most to gain from his death.”

The following days were a blur of research and late nights. I buried myself in newspapers, scrolling through old articles about Fane’s business ventures, social gatherings, and any scandals that might have arisen. Each revelation felt like a piece of a puzzle, but they rarely fit together.

Meanwhile, Veronica met with her contact — a discreet figure in the city’s financial sector who might have insights into the darker dealings of the elite. I could see the weariness etched on her face when she returned.

“They’re tight-lipped, Alex,” she said, frustration evident in her tone. “But I got a hint about a falling-out between Fane and some investors. There were whispers of betrayal, money that disappeared, and threats exchanged. He was playing a dangerous game.”

“Did they mention any names?” I leaned forward, eager for more information.

“Just one,” she replied, her voice low. “A man named Robert Sinclair. Apparently, he was heavily involved in Fane’s last project and disappeared shortly before the murder.”

Sinclair’s name sent a shiver down my spine. I remembered the man from the masquerade — his quiet demeanour and calculating gaze. “We need to find him. If he’s connected to Fane’s death, he might be our best lead.”

That evening, we decided to pay Sinclair a visit. Veronica had managed to track down his last known address — a run-down flat on the outskirts of town, far removed from the grandeur of the social scene.

As we approached the building, the flickering street lights cast an eerie glow on the cracked pavement. “Are you sure about this?” Veronica asked, her voice tinged with apprehension. “What if he doesn’t want to talk?”

“He’ll talk,” I said, though I felt a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. “If he knows anything about Fane, he’ll be compelled to answer. And if he doesn’t, we’ll have to persuade him otherwise.”

With a deep breath, I knocked on the door. The sound echoed ominously through the corridor. Moments later, we heard footsteps shuffling on the other side, and the door creaked open to reveal Sinclair, dishevelled and wary.

“What do you want?” he asked, his eyes darting between us.

“Mr. Sinclair,” I began, forcing my voice to remain steady. “We need to talk about Gregory Fane.”

His expression shifted, a flicker of fear crossing his features before he quickly masked it. “I don’t know anything about him. He’s dead, isn’t he? What more could there be to say?”

“Quite a lot, actually,” I pressed, stepping forward slightly. “We know you were involved with him. And we’re trying to understand why he was murdered.”

Sinclair hesitated, then opened the door wider, his shoulders slumping in resignation. “Fine. Come in.”

The inside of his flat was dimly lit, filled with the remnants of a life once vibrant. Old photographs lined the walls, depicting smiling faces and happier times, now overshadowed by the somber atmosphere.

“Sit,” Sinclair said, gesturing toward a battered sofa. “But I’m not making any promises. I had my disagreements with Fane, but I didn’t want him dead.”

“Disagreements?” I probed, taking a seat beside Veronica. “What kind of disagreements?”

Sinclair ran a hand through his hair, the tension evident in his posture. “We were working on a project together — a real estate deal that went south. Fane was supposed to handle the finances, but he kept things close to his chest. I found out he was hiding debts, and when I confronted him, it got ugly.”

“Ugly how?” Veronica asked, her eyes locked on him.

“Threats were made. I walked away from the deal, but Fane… he didn’t take it well. He had powerful friends, and he was losing control. That’s when I decided to cut ties completely.”

“What did he say to you?” I pressed, trying to draw out more information.

“Just that he would make me regret it,” Sinclair replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think he meant it literally.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy with implication. “And after that? Did you see him again?”

“No,” he admitted, looking down at the floor. “I kept my distance. Then I heard about his death, and I knew I had to stay hidden.”

“Did you know anyone else who might have wanted him dead?” Veronica asked.

Sinclair shook his head. “I’m not sure. Fane had a lot of enemies, but he also had allies who could be equally dangerous. There’s a whole world out there that you don’t know about — people who will kill to protect their interests.”

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed outside the flat, followed by the unmistakable thud of heavy boots. I exchanged a glance with Veronica, panic rising in my chest.

“Someone’s coming,” I whispered, urgency flooding my voice. “We need to get out of here.”

Sinclair’s face blanched. “You can’t leave through the front. They’re looking for you. Go out the back — quickly!”

Without hesitation, we sprang to our feet and headed toward the back door, Sinclair following closely behind. As I opened it, a rush of cool air greeted us, but we could still hear the voices approaching.

“Stay low,” I instructed, and we slipped out into the darkness, hearts pounding as we made our escape.