I found out when I came home to an empty apartment and a note on the kitchen counter:Got hired at a bookstore. First shift today. Back by six.
The note was written on the back of a receipt, his handwriting careful and precise. I stared at it for a long moment, something warm spreading through my chest.
He came home that evening with dust on his sleeves and a stack of paperbacks he'd bought with his employee discount.
"The owner is this woman named Miriam," he said, practically glowing. "She's seventy-three and has read every book in the store. Every single one. She quizzed me on Hemingway, and I passed, so she hired me on the spot."
"You know Hemingway?"
"I know enough to fake it." He grinned. "Langford education. Finally useful for something."
I pulled him into a kiss, tasting coffee on his lips.
"I'm proud of you," I said.
He ducked his head, but I caught the flush of pleasure before he hid it.
The next morning, my good mood lasted exactly until 10:47 AM.
That's when Cedric radioed me: "Vance, you've got visitors at the front desk. Two guys in suits. They're asking about the Langford wedding."
My blood went cold, but my voice stayed flat.
"I'll be right there."
I found them in the lobby: two men in their mid-forties, exuding the bland professionalism of private investigators. Dark suits, polished shoes, notepads in hand. One was showing a photo to the front desk staff.
A photo of Tobias.
"Gentlemen." I approached with my best neutral expression. "I'm Vance Kessler, Head of Security. How can I help you?"
The taller one turned, assessing me with practiced eyes. "Mr. Kessler. We're with Sterling Investigations. The Langford family has retained us to locate their son, Tobias Langford. I understand you were on duty the day he disappeared?"
"I was."
"We'd like to ask you some questions, if you have a few minutes."
"Of course." I gestured toward the security office. "This way."
I led them down the corridor. Fifteen years of military training had taught me to compartmentalize. The part of me worried about Tobias got locked away. The part that answered questions was all business.
In the office, they sat across from me with their notepads ready.
"Mr. Kessler, can you walk us through your movements on the day of the wedding?"
I recounted the same story I'd given the police: the search, the locked exits, the corridors I checked. Every detail was accurate, except for the fifteen minutes I spent hiding a runaway groom in my storage closet.
"And you found nothing?" The shorter one leaned forward. "No sign of which direction he went?"
"The service corridors are a maze. He could have gone anywhere."
"But he didn't leave through any of the exits."
"Not that we detected."
"So he's still here? In the hotel?"
"We searched every room, every closet, every storage area." I kept my voice flat. "He wasn't here."
