I was cataloging Mrs. Rodriguez's Christmas memory when the man in the thousand-dollar suit walked through my door.
It was 7 PM, well past normal business hours. My clinic officially closed at six, but the neon "Memory Services" sign in my window stayed lit around the clock. In the underground trade, desperate people kept desperate hours. I'd learned to expect the unexpected.
But I hadn't expected Adrian Blackstone.
He filled my doorway like he owned it, which technically he probably did—the Blackstone Empire had real estate holdings throughout Chinatown. He was taller than he'd appeared in Elena's memory, maybe six-two, with the kind of presence that made rooms feel smaller. Dark hair perfectly styled despite the late hour, wearing a charcoal suit that cost more than most people's annual rent.
But it was his eyes that caught me off guard. Blue, with that strange gray fleck I'd noticed in his photos, but more haunted than any billionaire's eyes had a right to be. He looked like a man carrying ghosts.
"We're closed," I said, not bothering to look up from my work. Let him think I didn't recognize him. Let him think he was just another wealthy client slumming it in the underground.
"I need to buy a memory." His voice was rougher than I'd expected, with an edge that suggested he'd been drinking. "Money's not an issue."
I finally looked up, letting my eyes travel from his expensive shoes to his perfectly knotted tie. "Money's always an issue, Mr...?"
"Blackstone. Adrian Blackstone."
The name hung in the air between us like a loaded gun. I kept my expression neutral, professional, even as my heart rate spiked. This was it. The man who'd been on that balcony when Elena died was standing in my clinic, asking to buy memories.
"Should I know that name?" I asked, returning to my cataloging.
He stepped closer, and I caught the scent of expensive cologne mixed with whiskey. "Most people do."
"I don't deal with most people." I set down my pen and gave him my full attention. "What kind of memory are you looking for, Mr. Blackstone?"
Something flickered across his face—hope, maybe, or desperation. "I need... I'm looking for memories of someone specific. A woman named Elena Hayes."
The pen slipped from my fingers. I bent to retrieve it, using the moment to compose myself. Elena's last name. He knew Elena's last name. How much did he know about my sister? How much did he know about me?
"Elena Hayes," I repeated carefully. "Rings a bell. Investigator, right? Died a few months back?"
"You know her?" The desperation in his voice was naked now, unguarded.
"Know of her. Her death made the news." I leaned back in my chair, studying his face. "Why would someone like you want memories of a dead investigator?"
Adrian ran a hand through his hair, disturbing the perfect styling. "I... we were acquainted. Before she died. I lost some memories of our time together in an accident, and I'm trying to recover what I can."
"What kind of accident makes you lose specific memories?"
His jaw tightened. "The kind that involves falling off a motorcycle and cracking your skull open."
A lie, but a practiced one. I made a mental note to investigate Adrian's supposed motorcycle accident later. "I see. And you think I might have Elena Hayes' memories because...?"
"Because you deal in impossible acquisitions." He pulled out his phone, showing me a bank transfer authorization. "I'm prepared to offer ten million dollars for any memory involving Elena Hayes. Any memory at all."
Ten million dollars.
I stared at the number on his screen, letting the shock show on my face. It wasn't entirely fake—ten million was more than I'd made in the past three years combined. But more important than the money was what it told me about Adrian Blackstone's desperation.
"Ten million," I said slowly. "For memories of one dead woman."
"Yes."
"That's... a substantial amount."
"I told you money wasn't an issue."
I stood up and walked to my coffee machine, an ancient espresso maker that had come with the building. My hands were steady as I ground beans, but my mind was racing. Adrian Blackstone was either Elena's killer trying to cover his tracks, or he was genuinely grief-stricken over losing her. Either way, he was the key to everything.
"Coffee?" I offered.
"I don't have time for social niceties."
"You're asking me to commit multiple felonies. The least you can do is pretend to be civilized." I made two cups anyway, setting one on the table beside him. "Memory extraction from the deceased is highly illegal. Even possessing such memories carries a twenty-year sentence."
"I'm aware of the risks."
"Are you aware that Elena Hayes' memories would be considered evidence in an ongoing investigation?"
Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of panic, quickly suppressed. "What investigation?"
"Her death wasn't exactly cut and dried. Private investigator falls off a sixty-story building? Police might call it suicide, but people talk." I sipped my coffee, watching his reaction over the rim. "Some say she was working on something big. Something that might have gotten her killed."
"She wasn't killed." The words came out too fast, too defensive. "Elena's death was... it was an accident."
"You sound very certain about that."
"I..." He stopped, seeming to realize he'd said too much. "I just don't believe someone would kill her. She was... she was a good person."
The way he said 'good person' made my chest tight. There was real pain in his voice, real loss. Whatever Adrian Blackstone's role in Elena's death, he wasn't indifferent to it.
"Tell me about your relationship with Elena," I said.
"We were... friends. Close friends." He picked up the coffee cup but didn't drink from it. "I cared about her very much."
"Close enough that you'd pay ten million for her memories?"
"Close enough that I'd pay whatever it takes."
I walked to my safe and pulled out a blank memory chip, holding it up to the light. "Hypothetically speaking, if I did have Elena Hayes memories, what would you want to know first?"
His whole body leaned forward. "Everything. What she was thinking, what she was feeling, what she was working on before..." He stopped himself.
"Before she died?"
"Yes."
"And if these hypothetical memories contained information about her death? Would you still want them?"
The question hung between us like a blade. Adrian's face went very still, very pale. "I would want to know the truth."
"Even if the truth implicated you?"
"Especially then."
The words came out with such raw honesty that I almost believed him. Almost. But I'd been in the memory business long enough to know that people lied even when they thought they were telling the truth.
"I need to be very clear about something, Mr. Blackstone." I set the memory chip on the table between us. "If I did possess Elena Hayes memories—and I'm not saying I do—they would be extremely dangerous. The kind of dangerous that gets people killed. Are you prepared for that?"
"I'm already living with that danger."
"What does that mean?"
He was quiet for a long moment, staring into his untouched coffee. "Elena was investigating something when she died. Something involving my family's business. If there's even a chance that her death wasn't an accident, I need to know."
"Why?"
"Because if someone killed her to stop her investigation, they're still out there. And they might not be finished."
The admission hung in the air like confession. I studied his face, looking for tells, for signs of deception. But all I saw was a man carrying the weight of terrible knowledge, or terrible suspicion.
"You think Elena was murdered," I said.
"I think Elena found something she wasn't supposed to find. And I think it got her killed."
"By whom?"
"That's what I'm hoping her memories will tell me."
I walked back to my chair, taking my time. This was the moment—the choice point that would determine everything that came next. I could turn him away, stick to my original plan of approaching him slowly, carefully. Or I could take the bait he was dangling and dive headfirst into the deep end.
"Acquiring memories from a deceased person would take time," I said finally. "Elena Hayes died three months ago. The trail is cold, and the contacts who might have access to her extracted memories won't come cheap."
"How much?"
"Besides your ten million? Another two million for expenses. Bribes, equipment, security measures." I let the number sink in. "And no guarantees. I might spend your money and come up empty."
"I'll take that risk."
"There's also the question of authenticity. Memory forgery is sophisticated these days. How would you know if what I found was real?"
His smile was bitter. "I'll know."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I knew Elena better than anyone." The words carried a weight of loss that made my throat tight. "Her memories would have... details that couldn't be faked. Personal things only she would know."
I nodded slowly, as if considering his proposal. In reality, I was trying to process the emotional minefield I'd just stepped into. Adrian Blackstone wasn't just some wealthy client looking to buy exotic memories. He was a man desperate to understand the death of someone he clearly loved.
Someone he loved. Elena.
The realization hit me like cold water. Adrian Blackstone had been in love with my sister. The pain in his voice, the haunted look in his eyes, the willingness to spend twelve million dollars for her memories—it all pointed to a man grieving a lost love.
But if he loved Elena, why had she been afraid of him in that final memory? Why had she been on that balcony arguing with someone about keeping secrets?
"I'll need a week," I said. "Maybe two."
"How long—"
"Mr. Blackstone." I stood up, making it clear the meeting was over. "You're asking me to acquire the memories of a murdered woman. If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right. That takes time."
He nodded, pulling out a business card. "This has my private number. Call me day or night when you have something."
I took the card, our fingers brushing for just a moment. His skin was warm, human, nothing like the cold killer I'd been expecting. "I'll be in touch."
He headed for the door, then paused with his hand on the knob. "Miss...?"
"Hayes," I said without thinking. "Luna Hayes."
The name stopped him cold. He turned back to me, his face cycling through surprise, confusion, and something that might have been hope.
"Hayes," he repeated slowly. "As in...?"
"As in the most common last name in the city," I lied smoothly. "No relation to your investigator."
But I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. The coincidence was too big to ignore, and Adrian Blackstone hadn't built a billion-dollar empire by ignoring details.
"Of course," he said finally. "Just a coincidence."
"Just a coincidence."
After he left, I locked the door and leaned against it, my heart hammering. That had gone better and worse than I'd expected. Better because Adrian was clearly desperate enough to pay whatever I asked. Worse because he was starting to suspect our connection.
And worse still because seeing him in person, hearing the pain in his voice when he talked about Elena, had complicated everything. In Elena's death memory, Adrian had been a shadowy figure, possibly guilty of murder. In person, he was a man destroyed by grief for the woman I'd loved most in the world.
Either Adrian Blackstone was the most convincing liar I'd ever met, or Elena's death was more complicated than I'd realized.
I pulled out my phone and called Maya.
"How fast can you get me everything on Adrian Blackstone's supposed motorcycle accident?" I asked when she picked up.
"Already working on it. I figured you'd want background after your meeting."
"He was here. In my clinic."
Maya was quiet for a moment. "That's either very good luck or a very bad sign."
"Probably both." I looked at his business card, expensive cardstock with raised lettering. "He wants to pay twelve million for Elena's memories."
"Twelve million? Jesus, Luna. What did you tell him?"
"That I'd try to acquire them." I walked to my window, looking out at the neon-soaked street. "Maya, he loved her. Elena. I could hear it in his voice."
"That doesn't mean he didn't kill her."
"No. But it changes things."
"How?"
I touched Elena's necklace through my shirt, feeling the weight of her final memory. "If Adrian Blackstone loved Elena, and someone else killed her, then he's not my enemy. He's my ally."
"And if he killed her?"
"Then he just made the biggest mistake of his life by walking into my clinic."
I hung up and stared at Adrian's business card for a long time. Tomorrow, I would begin the most dangerous con of my career—selling a man his dead lover's memories while hunting for her killer. The fact that those memories lived in my own mind, and that Elena's killer might be sitting across from me, were complications I'd have to navigate carefully.
But tonight, I had twelve million reasons to believe that Adrian Blackstone was either going to be the key to my revenge, or the most expensive mistake I'd ever made.