Lucas Grey does not want to be part of Operation Red Notebook.
He makes this clear approximately thirty seconds after the security system stops blaring and Sophie stops wearing my guest bathrobe as a cape.
We're standing in the living room, surrounded by the aftermath of the search: open drawers, scattered papers, Sophie's half-eaten pastries, and Kevin's laptop—which has survived the chaos miraculously unscathed. Sophie has returned the bathrobe to the spa room after Lucas's pointed comment, but she's still wearing the towel turban because she claims it helps her think.
"I will assist with the search," Lucas says. His voice is carefully neutral in that way that means he's choosing every word with surgical precision. "But I want to be clear that I do not believe this notebook exists as a physical object."
Sophie gasps like he has just announced he doesn't believe in puppies. "You DON'T?"
"I believe Ms. Chen experienced a memory fragment—a residual image from before her accident. These are common in amnesia cases. The brain creates anchors and focal points that feel significant even if they represent nothing real. The red notebook may be a symbol or a metaphor, not a physical object waiting to be found."
"You think I imagined it," I say.
His left ear twitches. A faint pink flush creeps up from his collar. "I think your brain is trying to make sense of a traumatic experience. The red notebook represents something important that you've lost. But that doesn't mean it exists in the physical world. It may exist only in your memory—or what remains of it."
Kevin looks up from his laptop. "Statistically, memory fragments in retrograde amnesia patients correspond to real objects or events approximately sixty-eight percent of the time. The remaining thirty-two percent are confabulations or symbolic representations with no physical counterpart."
"Thirty-two percent is not insignificant," Lucas replies.
"Sixty-eight percent is higher."
They stare at each other. Kevin with his spreadsheets and his statistics. Lucas with his careful neutrality and his twitching ears. Two men who process the world in completely different ways, now forced to work together. Sophie steps between them before the staring can escalate into something more.
"Okay. So there's a sixty-eight percent chance the notebook is real and a thirty-two percent chance it's not. We won't know until we search. So we search. End of discussion."
Lucas's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "I am not refusing to search. I am managing expectations so that Ms. Chen is not disappointed if we find nothing."
"Manage them quieter. We have work to do."
I watch Lucas absorb this. Sophie has just told him, essentially, to stop talking and start helping. Lucas Grey—who has managed my empire for six years, who controls my schedule and my security and my coffee maker—is now being dismissed by a chaotic waitress in a towel turban. His ears turn a slow, reluctant pink.
"Very well," he says. "I will organize the search."
He walks to the center of the living room and begins issuing instructions with the calm authority of someone who has been running things for years. Not loudly or aggressively. Just clearly and precisely. Like he's giving a presentation to the board of directors.
"The penthouse is approximately twelve thousand square feet across three floors. Not including the rooftop terrace and service corridors. We have already searched the main living area, kitchen, dining room, and second-floor bedrooms. That leaves the study, the library, the wine cellar, the gym, the spa, the cinema, the shoe room, and three storage areas that Ms. Chen has never accessed or acknowledged."
Sophie's mouth drops open. "You have a SHOE ROOM?"
"Focus, Ms. Chen."
"Sorry. Continue."
Lucas pulls out his tablet and projects a floor plan onto the wall. It's the same map he drew for me, but digital now—marked with zones in different colors.
"I have divided the remaining areas into search sectors. Red sectors are high priority—personal spaces where Ms. Chen spent significant time. Blue sectors are medium priority—occasional use areas. Green sectors are low priority—spaces Ms. Chen rarely or never entered."
I look at the map. The study is red. The library is red. The shoe room is blue. The gym is green. The storage areas are a depressing shade of gray that suggests they contain nothing but forgotten things.
"You color-coded my life," I say.
"I color-coded your search probability. There's a distinction."
Kevin is already typing. "I'll need access to that floor plan. I can sync it with my zone documentation system and cross-reference with my existing search data."
Lucas hesitates for just a moment before nodding. "I'll share the file. The security credentials are attached."
Sophie watches this exchange with wide eyes. "Did you two just become friends? Is this a friendship moment happening right now?"
"We are collaborating," Lucas says.
"That's friendship for people like you."
I laugh before I can stop myself. Lucas's ears go from pink to red. Kevin's ears—I notice for the first time—are also slightly pink. Matching and symmetrical and completely unintentional. Two men who express emotion through their ears, now united by a spreadsheet and a floor plan and a mission to find something that might not exist.
We start in the study.
Lucas leads the way with the confidence of someone who knows every drawer and cabinet and hidden compartment. He organized this room himself, he explains, because the old Vivian preferred to keep her workspace immaculate and efficient. Everything has a place. Everything is labeled. Nothing is out of order.
"This is where you kept important documents," Lucas says, opening a filing cabinet. "Contracts. Financial records. Legal correspondence. I've reviewed all of these in the course of my duties. There is no red notebook among them."
Sophie peers inside. "What about personal documents? Letters or journals or things you wouldn't have reviewed?"
Lucas pauses. His ears go from pink to red. "Ms. Chen valued her privacy. I did not access her personal effects unless explicitly instructed."
"Then that's where we look."
We search for two hours. Through every drawer and shelf and folder. Sophie finds a collection of old photographs—the old Vivian at company events, accepting awards, standing stiffly next to people I don't recognize with a smile that never reaches her eyes. Lucas finds a folder of personal correspondence he has never opened because she marked it "Private."
"She looks tired," I say quietly, looking at a photograph of myself from what must have been years ago.
Lucas is standing by the window, pretending not to watch me. "She was. She worked very hard and rested very rarely."
"Did she ever rest?"
"Not that I observed. She considered rest inefficient and preferred to fill every hour with productive activity."
I set the photographs aside. They're not the notebook, but they feel important. Evidence of a woman who spent her life achieving and never enjoying. Who forgot how to be happy long before she forgot everything else.
We move to the library.
Sophie's reaction is everything I hoped for. She spins in slow circles, taking in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the velvet chaise lounge and the antique globe that hides a mini-fridge.
"This is the most beautiful room I've ever seen," she breathes. "I want to live here. I want to BE here. I want to read every single book and drink fancy water from a globe and never leave."
Kevin is already scanning the shelves. "Organization appears to be alphabetical by author surname. With some exceptions."
"Exceptions?"
"These three shelves. They're organized by color."
I look where he's pointing. And there it is. A rainbow of spines flowing from red to orange to yellow to green to blue to violet. The only splash of color in the entire penthouse, hidden away in the library where no one would see it unless they were looking.
"The old Vivian organized her books by color," Sophie says slowly. "The woman who wore only black and white. Who fired a chef for suggesting beef tartare. She had a secret rainbow bookshelf."
Lucas's ears are pink. "She found it calming, I believe. She said order didn't always have to be alphabetical. Sometimes it could be beautiful."
I run my fingers along the spines. Red and orange and yellow and green and blue and violet. A secret rainbow created by a woman who had forgotten how to let color into her life anywhere else.
"Why are you helping, Lucas? Really. Not because it's efficient. Not because Kevin's statistics favor organized searches. Why are you here?"
He's quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is softer than I've ever heard it.
"Because you asked. I have been your assistant for six years, three months, and twelve days. I have managed your schedule and your properties and your life. I have anticipated your needs before you expressed them. I have solved problems you didn't know existed. But I could not prevent your accident. I was not there when you fell. I did not know you were in danger until it was too late."
"Lucas—"
"This notebook—whether it's real or imagined—matters to you. So it matters to me. And if finding it helps you recover something you lost, then I will search every inch of this penthouse. Every property you own. Every place you've ever been." He turns to face me. His eyes meet mine directly for the first time since we started. "Because you asked. That's the real reason. You asked, and I could not say no."
The room is completely silent. Sophie has stopped breathing. Kevin's fingers hover motionless above his keyboard. I don't know what to say, so I say the only thing that feels true.
"Thank you."
Lucas's ears go from red to crimson to something approaching purple. He nods once with sharp precision. But his ears stay red for the rest of the search.
And I notice he stays closer to me than before.
We don't find the notebook that day. Or the next. Or the day after that. But Lucas keeps searching. And so does Sophie. And so does Kevin. And so do I.
Not because we're sure we'll find it.
But because searching together matters more than finding anything alone.