The directive from Ji Jingheng was a pebble dropped into a still, deep pond. In the world of high-stakes information brokerage, the ripples were immediate, though invisible to the surface.
The subcontractor firm, a boutique operation specializing in "logistical and lifestyle forensics," had been on the verge of losing a lucrative, if obscure, retainer. The sudden reversal, accompanied by a specific, time-sensitive data request, signaled a shift. The client was not just passively observing. He was hunting.
In a nondescript office in Virginia, the team lead, a man named Keller who looked more like an accountant than a spy, reviewed the parameters. Monaco. Two years ago. The Grand Ocean Gala. Forty-eight-hour window. Discreet. The fee attached to the request ensured discretion was the primary product.
Keller's team worked digitally, their tools algorithms and privileged access, not trench coats and cameras. They began sifting. Public records were easy: guest lists (Lu Huai, confirmed attendee; Ji Jingheng, through a shell corporate donation, confirmed attendee), press photos, social media geotags from that night. They established a baseline: both subjects were present at the same high-density, high-net-worth event. Proximity, not connection.
The next layer was harder. Private hotel registries, staff scheduling logs from the venue, transportation manifests for luxury car services. This required calling in favors, applying gentle pressure to data custodians, and deploying sophisticated scraping tools against poorly secured back-end systems. It was slow, meticulous work.
Meanwhile, in the mountain silence of Serenity Pines, Lu Huai's days continued their gentle, insulating rhythm. Her friendship with Sarah had settled into a comfortable routine. They shared afternoon tea twice a week. Chloe would color at their feet while the women talked. The conversations were still surface-level, a mutual, unspoken agreement to avoid the deep scars of the past. They discussed Chloe's preschool, the best brand of prenatal vitamins, the novel Lu Huai was reading, the vegetable garden Sarah was trying to start behind her cabin.
Lu Huai found an unexpected solace in this simple companionship. It was undemanding. Sarah asked nothing of "Lily" beyond her presence. There was no aura of celebrity, no hidden agenda. It was a friendship built on the shared, immediate ground of pregnancy and solitude. It felt real in a way so little in her previous life had.
One morning, during her check-up, Eleanor Vance looked up from her chart, her reading glasses perched on her nose. "Your blood work is perfect. Blood pressure, excellent. The baby's growth is right on track." She removed her glasses. "How are you sleeping, Lily?"
"Better," Lu Huai said, and it was true. The deep, dreamless sleep of physical exhaustion had given way to a more restful, if sometimes interrupted, slumber. The baby was more active at night, a series of gentle rolls and pushes that she had come to cherish in the dark quiet.
"Good." Eleanor paused, her kind eyes studying her patient. "And the other things? The anxiety?"
Lu Huai considered the question. The constant, low-grade panic that had haunted her in Los Angeles—the fear of being seen, of saying the wrong thing, of failing to meet an impossible standard—had faded. It was replaced by a different kind of vigilance, a protective alertness tuned to the life within her. It was sharper, more focused, but somehow less corrosive. "It's different now," she said finally. "It's not about me anymore. That makes it easier to manage."
Eleanor nodded, satisfied. "That's a healthy perspective. The baby is already giving you strength." She made a note. "I'd like to do another ultrasound next week. Just routine. Get a clearer look at how our little one is developing."
Lu Huai agreed, a flutter of familiar excitement mixing with the ever-present undercurrent of fear. Every check-up was a reassurance, but also a moment of vulnerability. The image on the screen made the secret undeniably real.
Back in Virginia, Keller's team hit a snag, then a potential jackpot. The hotel's internal logs for the night of the gala were fragmented. A system upgrade had corrupted some archives. But they found a backup from a third-party security vendor. It was a long shot, a massive data dump of keycard access timestamps for the hotel's exclusive villas and suites.
They cross-referenced. Ji Jingheng's holding company had reserved the Royal Penthouse for three nights. The access log showed his keycard entering at 1:07 AM, the morning after the gala. Expected.
Lu Huai was officially booked in a standard suite on a lower floor. Her keycard showed her entering that suite at 11:48 PM on the night of the gala. Also expected.
But there was an anomaly. A master keycard, assigned to the head of housekeeping for emergency maintenance, showed a five-minute access window to the Royal Penthouse at 3:14 AM. Then, seventeen minutes later, a different keycard—a generic, temporary event staff card—accessed the service elevator from the penthouse level, descending to a staff-only basement exit. That card had been issued to a "C. Moreau," a name that appeared on the gala's temporary catering staff roster but had no corresponding social security number or employment history. A ghost.
It was a thin thread. Circumstantial. It could mean nothing. A staff error, a late-night cleaning request, a logistical hiccup.
But the timing was suggestive. And the ghost card was a classic tradecraft move for avoiding a paper trail. Keller highlighted the data points, building a preliminary sequence: Subject A,Lu returns to her suite early. Subject B,Ji returns to penthouse later. Unauthorized/obfuscated access to penthouse occurs in early morning hours, followed by discreet egress via staff channels.
He packaged the findings in a secure, encrypted report. No conclusions, just facts. He sent it to the single, anonymized drop point designated by the client. The message was simple: Anomaly detected in target timeline. Possible point of clandestine contact. Request further instruction and authorization for deeper financial/communications audit on Subject A post-event.
The report landed in Lin's secure inbox. She reviewed it with her usual detached efficiency. The data was intriguing but inconclusive. It hinted at a secret, but not its nature. She prepared a summary for Ji Jingheng, attaching Keller's note. She knew her employer. He would see the gap, the unexplained five minutes in the penthouse, the ghost card, as a challenge to his control. A missing variable in an equation he demanded be solved.
She entered his office. He was on a video conference, his voice a low, commanding rumble in Mandarin, discussing bond yields in Hong Kong. He held up a finger without looking at her, finishing his point with lethal precision before muting the call.
"Report from the forensics team," Lin said, placing the single sheet of paper on his desk.
Ji Jingheng's eyes scanned the summary. The sterile language of data points: timestamps, keycard codes, ghost identities. His expression didn't change, but the air in the room seemed to grow colder, denser. His gaze lingered on the line: Possible point of clandestine contact.
"A ghost card," he stated, his voice flat.
"Common practice for discrete entrances and exits at such events," Lin offered. "It proves nothing."
"It proves someone took pains to leave no record," he corrected softly. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. The video conference participants were frozen on the monitor, waiting for his return. He ignored them. "What is your assessment of the probability that Lu Huai's current disappearance is linked to the Monaco event?"
Lin was silent for a moment, choosing her words. "Based solely on this data, the probability is low. It is a single anomaly among thousands of data points from that night. However…" She paused. "The client's instinct prompted the inquiry. The anomaly exists. Therefore, the probability is non-zero. A non-zero probability, given the client's profile and the potential implications, warrants investigation."
He gave a single, curt nod. "Authorize the next phase. Financials, communications for the six months following Monaco. Focus on medical expenditures, private clinic visits, any unusual asset transfers or trusts established. And find 'C. Moreau.' Use every resource. I want to know who that card was really assigned to."
"The financial audit will be complex. Her finances are layered through corporate entities, charitable foundations."
"Then un-layer them." His tone left no room for debate. "I don't care about the cost. I care about the gap. Find what's in it."
"Understood." Lin turned to leave.
"Lin."
She stopped at the door.
"Keep this compartmentalized. No one else in the firm is to know. This is a private matter."
"Of course, sir."
When the door closed, Ji Jingheng sat perfectly still, his gaze fixed on the cityscape but not seeing it. The ghost card was a thread. A fragile one. But he was a man who had built an empire by pulling threads until whole industries unraveled. A five-minute window at 3:14 AM. What could happen in five minutes? A confrontation? An exchange? A mistake?
The memory of that night, always held at a cold, analytical distance, suddenly flooded back with sensory force. The taste of champagne and salt air. The feel of silk under his hands. The shocking vulnerability in her eyes that had mirrored his own, just for an instant, before it was swallowed by a fiercer, more desperate fire. He had walked away because emotion was a variable he could not control. He had assumed she operated on the same calculus.
Now, he was no longer sure. Her disappearance was a new move on a board he hadn't known they were still playing on. And if she was playing a game, he needed to know the rules. More than that, he needed to know the stakes.
The hunt was no longer just about risk assessment. It had become personal. The ghost in the machine had a face, and it was haunting him.