She laughed and it left her feeling light. “Of course.”
The signature she penned into the crisp white paper was one she’d practiced since she was a child but had never had the opportunity to use. She’d never felt so real. Dimple almost wanted to keep it for herself as a memento. Because this felt like the start of something bigger than herself. Something that could outlive her.
“Thanks,” Atlas muttered.
Eli only shook his head.
Dimple gave them a small wave, watching them go. It wasn’t until they disappeared inside the elevator that the full force of the morning’s proceedings knocked the air out of her lungs. She slammed the door shut behind her, sliding to her knees. Only the hum of kitchen appliances and the thud of her heartbeat were there to keep her company.
Chapter Three
January 27, 2026
A phone callmarked the beginning of Saffi Mirai Iyer’s descent into madness.
Two days ago, she’d been minding her own business in a café in Paris when the name of an old colleague flashed across her phone screen. She’d been too shocked to react at first, painful nostalgia washing over her. And then dread. And finally, begrudgingly, a touch of warmth.
“An heiress is dead? That’s why you’re calling?” Saffi had finally picked up after the sixth missed call, mistakenly assuming that such an incessant bid for her attention implied there would be something interesting to share.
“The Singhs hired us because we’ve helped out a few people in their circle, but that was with insurance fraud and divorce cases,” Eli Taylor said. “This is our firm’s first murder investigation.”
This alarmed Saffi. Not because of the death—she’d seen plenty of that—but at the fact that it had landed in the laps of Andino and Taylor Private Eye. She felt horrible for it, especially when Taylor sounded so anxious.
“So throw a party,” she deadpanned, taking a sip of bitter coffee. She couldn’t understand for the life of her why this exchange couldn’t have been accomplished via email. It would’ve saved her this turbulent cocktail of emotions that hearing Taylor’s voice again stirredup.
“I think I’m more worried than excited,” Taylor said. “I bet it would be different for you, though. We’ve heard all about the cases you’ve solved abroad—”
“Get to the point, Taylor,” Saffi bit out. She could already see where this was going, and she didn’t like the sound ofit.
“Well,” he started. “We were thinking, if you’re interested, that you might want to help us?”
For a moment, there was only static between them.
“You could finally visit the office.” Taylor, who’d never been a fan of silence, continued, “We could show you around Los Angeles. You’ve never been, have you?”
Saffi found herself astonished that Taylor had the gall to ask this of her. “You know why I can’t come back to America.”
In fact, other than her, they were the only people who knew. It wasn’t just her reputation on the line. Her father had recently been appointed to his second term as Arizona’s senator. If word of the last American murder investigation she’d been assigned got out—or worse, if she got herself tangled in another lawsuit—it would be his last term. He’d never forgive her.
The other end of the line had no response for that. So he hadn’t forgotten.
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” Taylor said solemnly. “The police have already written this case off as an accident, and Atlas is willing to go with their judgment. But Saffi, you should’ve seen the Singhs’ faces. They’re convinced their daughter was murdered. What if they’re right? I want a second opinion before we make a mistake we can’t take back.”
“There are plenty of private investigators in America,” Saffi said. “Ask one of them.”
There was no reason this needed to be her burden. Besides, Saffi was finally starting to build an international reputation for the quality of her work. The days were tedious, sure, but she was much better at her job now than she was five years ago—that was undeniable. She was in a good place: The botched murder investigation in Arizona was no longer haunting her. The last thing she needed was to rehash everything in America and risk tarnishing her reputation forgood. Still, she couldn’t deny how gratifying it felt that her old friend was seeking out her help specifically.
“It’ll be different this time. California isn’t like Arizona. There’s a moratorium on the death penalty.” Nothing that Saffi didn’t already know. “You’re the only one I’d trust with this,” Taylor said in that earnest tone of his. That was one thing that hadn’t changed in five years.
And that was how Saffi found herself standing in the Los Angeles International Airport two days later, her every possession packed into the duffel bag strapped across her shoulders.
As she stood over polished white flooring, watching the others rush to baggage claim, she felt no pull toward her destination. She took in the arched ceilings, the stifling air, the migraine-inducing fluorescent lights. It couldn’t be more different, and yet this airport felt exactly the same as the one in Phoenix.
This prescribed meaning was nothing more than a trick of her mind, she knew that, but she couldn’t slash through the mental block as easily as usual. Five years ago, standing in such a similar place, she’d had the stupid notion that she’d been about to experience something momentous.
Saffi hadn’t told anyone that she was planning on leaving. Still, she’d thought that she’d turn around in the TSA line and there would be Andino and Taylor begging her not to go. Or maybe as the crackling voice at her gate announced the last call for boarding, she would get a coincidental message from her parents to convince her otherwise.
Five years later, Saffi had come to recognize that momentous occasions never occurred when you expected them to. The only person waiting for Saffi at TSA had been a security officer shouting at her to take her shoes off. The only person who called her at her gate had been the announcement for boarding. The feeling she’d been left with afterward was awfully similar to that of someone forgetting her birthday. Childish and overall inconsequential, yes, but still painful.
