Sophie arrives at the café the next morning with a whiteboard.
She apparently borrowed it from somewhere without asking permission—which seems to be her primary method of acquiring things. It's a full whiteboard on wheels, the kind you see in corporate offices or startup meeting rooms or movies about brilliant detectives solving impossible crimes. She pushes it through the door with considerable effort while the wheels catch on the threshold and the board tilts dangerously.
She nearly takes out a chair. And a small potted plant that Marlene has been nurturing for three years. She definitely would have taken out Kevin if he hadn't dived out of the way with his laptop clutched to his chest like a precious artifact.
"Sorry—sorry—coming through—heavy object—no brakes," Sophie gasps, wrestling the whiteboard across the café floor and leaving small scuff marks on the aged wood.
Marlene watches from behind the counter with the expression of someone who has seen everything and is no longer capable of surprise. She doesn't move to help or comment. She simply watches as Sophie positions the whiteboard in the center of the café next to our usual table.
"What is that?" I ask, though I'm beginning to suspect I already know.
"Our strategy." Sophie steps back to admire her work, hands on her hips, breathing slightly heavy from the effort. "Operation Red Notebook requires organization. Structure. A plan. We can't just wander around hoping to stumble upon it. We need VISION."
Kevin looks up from his laptop, which he has already reopened and is typing on despite his near-death experience. "I already made a spreadsheet."
"Spreadsheets are for data. Whiteboards are for VISION." Sophie pulls a marker from her apron pocket with a theatrical flourish and uncaps it. "Now. Phase One."
She writes on the whiteboard in large, looping letters that tilt slightly downward:
PHASE ONE: INTELLIGENCE GATHERING
"We need information," Sophie announces, turning to face us like a general addressing her troops. "We can't search blindly because that's inefficient and Kevin will hate it. We need to understand where the old Vivian spent her time. What she cared about. Who she trusted. We need to know where she might have hidden something important."
She begins writing bullet points beneath Phase One with her messy, enthusiastic handwriting:
· Interview Lucas (assistant, knows everything)
· Interview Mrs. Nguyen (housekeeper, sees everything)
· Interview employees at Chen Industries
· Interview anyone who knew Vivian before the amnesia
· Create timeline of old Vivian's daily routines
· Map all locations she frequented
"That's a lot of people," I say, reading the list. "I don't even know most of them."
"Which is exactly why we need Phase One." Sophie taps the whiteboard with her marker. "You can't remember your life, but they remember. They observed you. They interacted with you. They might have seen the notebook or know where you kept important things. Someone in your orbit has the information we need."
Kevin types something. "Interviewing that many people will take weeks. Possibly months, depending on availability and willingness to cooperate."
"Then we start with the most important ones. Lucas and Mrs. Nguyen. They had the most access to Vivian's private life. Highest probability of knowing where she kept personal items."
I think about Lucas—who has been my assistant for six years, who knows my schedule and my preferences and my secrets, who drew me a map with a tiny coffee cup and covered me with his mother's blanket. And I think about Mrs. Nguyen—who I've never met but who has apparently been cleaning my penthouse for eight years, seeing everything I own and touch and hide.
"If anyone knows where the notebook is, it's them," I say slowly.
"Exactly." Sophie turns back to the whiteboard and writes beneath Phase One:
PHASE TWO: PHYSICAL SEARCH
"We search everywhere you've ever been," she continues. "Your penthouse. Your office. Your car. Your other properties. Your island. We leave no cushion unturned."
"Stone," Kevin corrects.
"Cushion. Stone. The point is, we search EVERYWHERE. Methodically. Room by room. Drawer by drawer. We document everything we find so we don't search the same place twice and waste everyone's time."
Kevin types something. "Phase Two will require access to private properties. Security clearances. Potentially legal permissions, depending on what's owned personally versus what's owned by the company."
Sophie waves her hand dismissively. "Details. We'll figure it out. You're rich, Vivian. You can get access to your own things."
"I don't even know what I own," I admit.
"Which is why we need Kevin's property records." Sophie points at him with her marker. "You said you could access public records. Do it. Map every property connected to Vivian Chen. Every office. Every apartment. Every storage unit. Every parking space. If she owned it or rented it or even looked at it funny, we need to know."
Kevin nods slowly. "That's a significant amount of data. It will take time to compile and verify."
"Then start now." Sophie turns back to the whiteboard and writes:
PHASE THREE: COVERT OPERATIONS
Kevin frowns. "What does that mean?"
Sophie lowers her voice conspiratorially and leans in close, her eyes darting around the empty café as if expecting spies to emerge from the pastry display. "If the notebook isn't in any obvious place, we go undercover. Disguises. Stakeouts. Infiltration of your own life."
"You want us to spy on my life."
"On your OLD life. The one that might be hiding your notebook." Sophie straightens up and begins pacing. "Think about it. If the notebook is so important that your brain held onto it through AMNESIA, maybe you hid it deliberately. Maybe you didn't want anyone to find it. Maybe you were protecting it from someone."
"From whom?"
"I don't know. That's what we need to figure out." Sophie writes more bullet points:
· Determine if notebook was hidden deliberately
· Identify potential threats (who would want to find it?)
· Surveillance of locations if necessary
· Disguises (optional but fun)
"I'm not wearing a disguise," Kevin says flatly.
"You'd look great in a fake mustache."
"I would not."
"Agree to disagree."
I look at the whiteboard. At the phases Sophie has outlined. At the careful planning hidden beneath her chaotic energy. She has clearly been thinking about this—probably all night, probably while Kevin was making spreadsheets and I was sleeping in my penthouse unaware that two people were building an entire operation around my fractured memory.
"You've really thought this through," I say.
Sophie's expression softens. "Of course I have. This is important. And you're important. I'm not going to half-heartedly look for this notebook and hope we get lucky. We're going to FIND it. Whatever it takes."
Kevin adjusts his glasses. "Statistically, organized searches have a significantly higher success rate than random exploration. Sophie's approach—while theatrical—is sound."
"Theatrical but sound," Sophie repeats. "I'm putting that on my resume."
She turns back to the whiteboard and writes:
PHASE FOUR: ANALYSIS AND SYNTHESIS
"We gather all our data from Phase One, Phase Two, and Phase Three," she explains. "Kevin organizes it. I look for patterns. You tell us if anything triggers a memory. We piece together where the notebook might be based on everything we've learned."
"And if that doesn't work?" I ask.
Sophie's marker hovers over the board. Then she writes:
PHASE FIVE: PLAN B
"I don't know what Plan B is yet," she admits. "Maybe we expand the search. Maybe we hire professionals. Maybe we accept that some things stay lost and focus on building new memories instead." She turns to face me, her expression serious. "But we're not there yet. Phase Five is a long way off. Right now, we focus on Phase One. Intelligence gathering. Learning everything we can about the old Vivian and where she might have hidden something precious."
Kevin turns his laptop so I can see the screen. He has already created a detailed timeline for Phase One—interview schedules, question templates, a list of all known associates. Everything organized and ready.
"I'll coordinate with Lucas," Kevin says. "He can arrange access to employees and company records. Mrs. Nguyen will need to be approached carefully. She's protective of your privacy."
"How do you know that?"
"Lucas mentioned it in passing when I asked about household staff."
I stare at him. "You already started Phase One."
"I started last night. After Sophie texted me about the whiteboard."
Sophie grins. "We work fast. It's one of our best qualities."
I look at them. Sophie with her chaotic whiteboard and her five-phase plan. Kevin with his spreadsheets and his quiet efficiency. I feel something warm and fierce settle in my chest. They have taken my vague, half-formed memory of a red notebook and transformed it into a real operation. A real mission. A real reason to hope. And they've done it without being asked. Without expecting anything in return. Simply because I mentioned that something felt important.
"Why?" I ask. "Why are you doing all this? You barely know me—the me that exists now, anyway. You knew the old Vivian, but I'm not her. I might never be her. Why invest so much in someone who might never remember what you meant to her?"
Sophie and Kevin exchange a glance. The kind that contains entire conversations. The kind of wordless communication that only comes from years of friendship.
"Because you showed up," Sophie says finally. "After the amnesia. After forgetting everything. You found your way back to this café. To us. You didn't have to. You could have stayed in your penthouse and let Lucas handle everything. You could have accepted that your old life was gone and started a completely new one somewhere else."
"But you came here," Kevin continues. "You sat at the same table the old Vivian always sat at. You ordered the same tea. You looked at us like we mattered—even though you couldn't remember why."
Sophie nods. "The old Vivian was lonely. Closed off. She kept everyone at a distance because she was afraid of being hurt. But somewhere underneath all that, she wanted connection. Friendship. To be seen. And now you're here. Open and curious and vulnerable. Laughing at my jokes. Asking Kevin about his projects. Tipping a million rupiah by accident."
"You became the person we always knew you could be," Kevin finishes. "And we're not going to abandon that person just because she doesn't remember us."
I feel tears prick at my eyes. I don't try to stop them.
"I don't know who I am," I whisper.
"Neither do we," Sophie says. "Not really. Not yet. But we're going to find out together."
Kevin hands me a napkin. "Phase One starts tomorrow. Lucas has agreed to meet us at your office. Give us a tour. Introduce us to key employees."
"You already scheduled it."
"Last night. After Sophie sent me seventeen messages about the whiteboard."
"It was fourteen messages," Sophie corrects.
"Seventeen. I counted."
I laugh—wet and surprised—and the sound fills the quiet café. "You two are the strangest people I've ever met."
"Thank you," Sophie says. "That's the nicest thing you've said to me today."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"Still counts."
Marlene appears beside our table with a tray. Three cups of tea. A plate of pastries. And a small cake with the words PHASE ONE written in wobbly frosting.
"I don't know what you three are planning," she says flatly. "But you'll need energy."
Sophie gasps. "You made us a PHASE cake."
"I had extra frosting. It was going to go bad."
Marlene walks away before anyone can thank her. Sophie is already taking photos of the cake with her phone. Kevin is typing something—probably documenting the cake's existence for his spreadsheet. I pick up my tea and look at the whiteboard with its five phases and its careful planning hidden beneath Sophie's chaotic handwriting.
I don't know where the red notebook is. I don't know what it contains. I don't know if finding it will heal me or break me.
But I have a plan now. And I have people to execute it with.
And somehow, that's enough.