The front door opened shortly after six.
“Dani?”
Julian’s voice echoed through the hall.
Too loud.
Too rushed.
I stepped out of the kitchen with a dish towel in my hands.
I had been making chicken soup.
The second I saw him, I knew something was wrong.
His tie was loose.
His hair looked like he had been pulling at it.
And he kept checking his pockets.
Jacket.
Pants.
Back pockets.
“My phone is gone.”
I blinked.
“You lost something?”
“I know.”
I almost laughed.
In twelve years, Julian had barely misplaced a pen.
He looked genuinely panicked.
“I had it when I left the office. I think. I put it in my jacket pocket. Then I changed at the gym, drove home, and somewhere between all of that…”
He spread his hands.
Gone.
For the next hour, we searched everything.
His briefcase.
Every pocket.
Every folder.
His gym bag.
