The invitation arrived by courier at exactly 3 PM on Thursday, delivered in a cream envelope with the Blackstone family crest embossed in gold. Inside, elegant script announced the annual Blackstone Foundation Charity Gala, with a handwritten note from Adrian: Would you like to see how the other half lives? A. B.
I stared at the invitation, my coffee growing cold. A charity gala meant high society, security cameras, and background checks. It meant walking into the lion's den wearing a target on my back. It also meant my first chance to meet Victoria Blackstone face to face.
"You're insane," Maya said when I called her. "A public event? With your face on every guest list?"
"Adrian's introducing me as a memory consultant. Someone he's considering for a business partnership." I walked to my closet, mentally cataloging my options. Nothing I owned would pass for high-end charity gala attire. "It's the perfect cover."
"It's the perfect way to get yourself killed."
"Maybe. But Victoria will be there, and I need to see her in person. I need to understand what Elena was up against."
Maya sighed through the phone. "What do you need?"
"A dress that costs more than my rent. A background identity that'll hold up to casual scrutiny. And a way to get close to Victoria without seeming obvious about it."
"I can handle the identity and research. The dress is your problem."
Three hours later, I stood in front of my mirror wearing a midnight blue gown that had cost me two months' income. The neckline was conservative enough for high society but low enough to be distracting. The fabric moved like liquid when I walked, and the price tag had made me physically nauseous.
But I looked the part. Luna Hayes, exclusive memory consultant to the wealthy and powerful. Someone who dealt in experiences too rare or dangerous for the regular market.
The Blackstone Foundation Gala was held at the Museum of Fine Arts, the building lit up like a jewel against the San Francisco skyline. Valets took keys to cars worth more than most people's houses while guests in designer gowns and thousand-dollar suits climbed the marble steps.
I handed my invitation to the security guard, heart hammering as he scanned my fake ID. Maya had created a flawless identity—Luna Hayes, independent memory broker, specializing in high-value extractions for private clients. The kind of person who might legitimately be courted by the Blackstone Empire for partnership opportunities.
"Welcome, Ms. Hayes," the guard said, waving me through.
The museum's main hall had been transformed into an elegant ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over marble floors where San Francisco's elite mingled with champagne glasses and practiced smiles. A string quartet played from a corner stage while servers in crisp white uniforms offered appetizers that probably cost more than most people's dinner.
I spotted Adrian immediately. He stood near the main bar, looking uncomfortable in his tailored tuxedo, checking his phone every few seconds. When he saw me, his expression shifted from polite social mask to something more genuine.
"You came." He approached with two champagne flutes, offering me one. "I wasn't sure you would."
"I don't often get invited to events where the champagne costs more than I make in a week."
"Dom Perignon 2008. Three hundred a bottle." He clinked his glass against mine. "But who's counting?"
The champagne was perfect, of course. Light and crisp with tiny bubbles that made my tongue tingle. I took a small sip, knowing I needed to stay sharp tonight.
"So this is how the Blackstone Empire entertains," I said, looking around the room. "Impressive."
"This is how we launder our reputation. Show everyone how charitable and civic-minded we are." Adrian's smile was bitter. "The irony is we actually do good work. The foundation funds memory research for trauma victims, Alzheimer's patients. Real therapeutic applications."
"But?"
"But good publicity doesn't erase bad business practices."
Before I could ask what he meant, a woman's voice interrupted us.
"Adrian, darling. Aren't you going to introduce me to your guest?"
I turned to see a woman approaching us, and immediately understood why Elena had been afraid.
Victoria Blackstone moved like a predator. She was shorter than me, maybe five-five, but her presence filled the space around her. Mid-forties but could pass for thirty, with platinum blonde hair swept into an elegant chignon and ice-blue eyes that missed nothing. Her dress was a work of art—silver silk that probably cost more than my annual rent.
But it was her smile that made my skin crawl. Perfect, practiced, and completely empty of warmth.
"Victoria, this is Luna Hayes. Luna, my stepmother, Victoria Blackstone."
Victoria extended a perfectly manicured hand. "Ms. Hayes. Adrian mentioned you work in memory consultation?"
Her grip was firm, confident. I met her eyes and saw intelligence there, along with something else. Curiosity? Suspicion? It was hard to tell.
"I specialize in rare acquisitions," I said. "Unique experiences that aren't available through regular channels."
"How fascinating. I've always found the memory trade to be... morally complex. Don't you think?"
The question felt like a test. "Everything worthwhile is morally complex."
Victoria's smile widened. "Indeed. And what brings you into Adrian's orbit?"
"Business opportunity. Your stepson has expensive tastes in memories."
"Oh, I know." Something flickered in Victoria's eyes. "Adrian has always been drawn to... complicated women. It doesn't always end well."
The words were spoken lightly, but the threat underneath was unmistakable. Victoria knew something about Adrian's relationship with Elena, and she was warning me away from him.
"I'll keep that in mind," I said.
"Do that." Victoria turned to Adrian. "Darling, the mayor is asking for you. Something about the harbor development project."
"Can't it wait?" Adrian glanced between us, clearly reluctant to leave me alone with Victoria.
"Business doesn't wait for social functions, dear." Victoria's tone brooked no argument. "I'll keep Ms. Hayes company."
Adrian hesitated, then leaned close to me. "Try the shrimp. They're from Maine."
He squeezed my hand briefly before walking away, leaving me alone with the woman who had probably killed my sister.
"He likes you," Victoria observed, watching Adrian's retreating figure.
"We have compatible professional interests."
"I'm sure you do." Victoria sipped her champagne, studying me over the rim. "Tell me, Ms. Hayes, how long have you been in the memory business?"
"Eight years. Since the Neurex patents opened up the underground markets."
"Ah yes, the underground. So much more... flexible than the regulated trade." Victoria's eyes were calculating now. "I imagine you've encountered all sorts of interesting people in your work. Investigators, perhaps? Law enforcement?"
My blood went cold, but I kept my expression neutral. "Privacy is essential in my line of work. I don't discuss clients."
"Of course not. Professional discretion is so important." Victoria moved closer, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Though I imagine some clients are more memorable than others. Private investigators, for instance. They tend to have such... complex motivations."
She knew. Somehow, Victoria knew about Elena's investigation.
"I wouldn't know," I said. "My clients pay well to keep their motivations private."
"Naturally. Though it's amazing how much information one can gather from neural extraction patterns, don't you think? The signature of someone's memories can be quite distinctive."
The words hit me like ice water. Victoria was telling me she could identify people by their memory patterns. If she'd extracted Elena's memories before killing her, she might be able to recognize Elena's neural signature in the fake memories I'd been giving Adrian.
"Memory signatures are fascinating," I agreed. "Though I find most people's experiences blend together after a while. One person's happiness looks much like another's."
"Perhaps. But trauma memories... those tend to be unique. The way someone experiences fear, the specific patterns their terror creates. Those are much harder to fake."
She was testing me, seeing if I'd react to the mention of trauma and fear. Elena's final memory had been nothing but terror and desperation.
"I don't often work with trauma memories," I lied. "Too dangerous for the client."
"Wise. Though sometimes trauma memories are the most valuable. They reveal so much about what people are truly afraid of." Victoria finished her champagne and set the glass on a passing server's tray. "Take Elena Hayes, for instance."
My heart stopped.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Elena Hayes. The investigator who died a few months ago. I knew her, actually. She'd been asking questions about our family's business practices." Victoria watched my face carefully. "She had such distinctive memories. So full of righteous anger and determination. And fear, of course. So much fear."
The casual way she mentioned Elena's name, the knowing look in her eyes—Victoria was admitting she'd known my sister. Possibly admitting she'd killed her.
"I'm not familiar with that case," I managed.
"Of course not. Though it's curious, don't you think? Two Hayes women in the same city, both involved in the memory trade. What are the odds?"
Every instinct screamed at me to run, to get out of this room before Victoria decided I knew too much. But I forced myself to stay calm, to keep playing the part.
"Hayes is a common name."
"True. But family resemblances can be so striking. The way someone holds their head, their mannerisms. Genetic memory patterns." Victoria stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her expensive perfume. "Elena Hayes had the most unusual ability to resist memory extraction. Natural mental barriers that made her very difficult to read. I wonder if that runs in families?"
She knew I was Elena's sister. The question was how long she'd known, and what she planned to do about it.
"I wouldn't know," I said. "I'm not close to my extended family."
"Pity. Family connections can be so... illuminating." Victoria glanced around the room, her eyes settling on Adrian across the hall. "Adrian seems quite taken with you. Rather like he was with Elena, actually."
"I'm just a business consultant."
"Of course. Though Adrian has a tendency to get emotionally involved with his business partners. It can be problematic." Victoria's smile was sharp now, dangerous. "Especially when those partners have hidden agendas."
"Everyone has hidden agendas."
"True. But some agendas are more dangerous than others. Elena Hayes learned that the hard way."
The threat was unmistakable now. Victoria was warning me that I could end up like Elena if I got too close to whatever secrets she was protecting.
"Ms. Blackstone," I said, "I think there might be some confusion about my relationship with your stepson. We're discussing a purely professional arrangement."
"I'm sure you are. But Adrian has a knight-in-shining-armor complex. He feels compelled to save damaged women." Victoria leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Elena Hayes thought she could save other people. It got her killed."
Before I could respond, Adrian reappeared at my side.
"Sorry about that. Political donors get demanding at these things." He looked between Victoria and me, sensing the tension. "Everything alright?"
"Perfectly fine," Victoria said, her mask of elegant civility sliding back into place. "Ms. Hayes and I were just discussing the complexities of the memory trade. Such a fascinating business."
"Indeed," I said. "Though I find the most interesting work happens away from the spotlight."
"How true. The shadows are so much more... accommodating for certain activities." Victoria smiled at Adrian. "Darling, I should circulate. So many donors to charm. Ms. Hayes, it was illuminating to meet you."
She drifted away into the crowd, leaving me shaken and Adrian confused.
"What was that about?" he asked.
"Your stepmother has strong opinions about the memory trade."
"Victoria has strong opinions about everything. Don't take it personally."
But I could feel Victoria's eyes on me from across the room, watching my every move. She knew who I was, and she was warning me away from whatever Elena had been investigating. The question was whether she planned to eliminate me the same way she'd eliminated my sister.
"Adrian," I said, "I need to ask you something about Elena."
His expression tightened. "What about her?"
"You said she came to you with suspicions about Victoria. Did she mention anything specific? Any evidence she'd found?"
"Why?"
"Because I think your stepmother knows more about Elena's death than she's letting on."
Adrian glanced around the room, then guided me toward a quieter corner. "What makes you say that?"
"The way she talks about Elena. Like she knew her personally. Like she knows exactly what happened to her."
"Victoria met Elena once, at a board meeting. Elena was investigating some complaints about our memory research division. Victoria thought Elena was overzealous, looking for problems that didn't exist."
"What kind of problems?"
"Missing persons cases. People who'd signed up for memory extraction procedures and then disappeared. Elena thought we were involved in human trafficking."
The words hit me like cold water. Memory trafficking—exactly what Maya had suspected.
"Were you? Involved in trafficking?"
Adrian's face went pale. "I don't know. God help me, I honestly don't know what Victoria's been doing with the research division. She handles all the medical side of our memory business."
"But you suspect something?"
"I've been having my memories deleted for months, Luna. What if I'm not just editing out guilt? What if I'm editing out evidence?"
The possibility hung between us like a loaded gun. If Adrian had witnessed evidence of Victoria's crimes, and she'd been systematically erasing those memories from his mind, then he was as much a victim as Elena had been.
"We need to find out what memories you've lost," I said.
"How?"
"Your Dr. Reeves. The memories he extracted from you—they have to be stored somewhere. Medical facilities are required to keep backup records."
"That's illegal to access without court orders."
"Elena's already dead. How many more people have to die before we stop worrying about what's legal?"
Adrian stared at me for a long moment, then nodded. "When?"
"Tomorrow night. After your usual appointment with Reeves. I'll follow you there and get access to your extracted memories."
"That's dangerous."
"So is pretending Victoria Blackstone isn't a killer."
The gala continued around us, elegant people making elegant conversation while sipping expensive champagne. But underneath the civilized surface, I could feel the currents of danger and deception that had gotten Elena killed.
Victoria appeared across the room, talking animatedly with a group of city officials. She looked perfectly respectable, the kind of woman who organized charity galas and funded medical research. But I'd seen the predator lurking behind her perfect smile.
Tomorrow night, I would break into Dr. Reeves' clinic and steal Adrian's deleted memories. I would finally see Elena through Adrian's eyes—the real Elena, not my fabricated version. And maybe, if I was lucky, I would find the evidence that Elena had died trying to protect.
But tonight, I had to survive a room full of San Francisco's elite while Victoria Blackstone watched my every move, deciding whether I needed to disappear like my sister.
The champagne suddenly tasted bitter in my mouth. I set down my glass and smiled at Adrian, playing my part in this deadly masquerade.
"Shall we dance?" I asked. "I'd hate to waste such beautiful music."
As Adrian led me onto the dance floor, I caught Victoria's eye across the room. Her smile was sharp as a blade, and her message was clear: she knew exactly who I was, and she was going to enjoy destroying me.
But Elena had raised me to be tougher than I looked. Victoria Blackstone had killed the wrong sister if she thought intimidation would make me back down.
The real dance was just beginning.