Geneva, Switzerland.
The third day of the Global Pharmaceutical Conference had just ended. The grand atrium buzzed with footsteps and clipped conversations as CEOs streamed out, assistants trailing with notepads and briefcases.
Jane stood among them, crisp in a midnight-blue pantsuit, suitcase at her side. Composed, but her eyes kept scanning the crowd.
Then she saw him.
Jace Davis cut through the dispersing executives like he owned the room. Clean-cut, focused, impossible to miss. His eyes found her instantly.
"Jane," he said, steady as ever. "Today wrapped up faster than expected. A good sign."
Jane smirked. "Glad you stayed awake this time."
"Barely," his gaze fixed to her suitcase. "The Biotexel proposal? I want to hand it over personally before their CEO vanishes behind another boardroom door."
She knelt to unzip the suitcase. Biotexel's CEO, Leonard Stravos, was nearly impossible to pin down. Jace had been working towards this partnership for months. This meeting mattered.
But the file wasn't there.
Jace didn't speak, but his fingers tapped lightly against his wrist.
"One moment," she murmured, digging through compartments. Still nothing.
She grabbed her shoulder bag instead. "I might've put it in my personal bag," she muttered, already searching furiously through it. Faster now. Pens, notebook, charger, mirror...
A small amber pill bottle slipped out and rolled to Jace's shoes.
Her chest tightened.
He bent, picked it up, and turned it in his hand. Blank label, no prescription.
"These yours?"
Jane stood quickly, brushing her hair from her face. "Yeah. My mom sends them. Just herbal. For sleep."
"No label?"
"The print always fades in her purse, but they help me relax."
Jace studied her.
"I'm not a user, if that's what you're thinking." She said, forcing a laugh.
Without a word, he opened the bottle, tipped one pill into his palm, and swallowed.
Her eyes widened. "Why would you—"
"Testing your story." His tone was flat.
She didn't know if she felt embarrased or furious. Maybe both.
"What if they're not harmless?" Her heart thudded, but she pushed the thought away.
Focus.
Just then, her fingers brushed something flat and stiff tucked into the bottom of the suitcase. Relief flooded. She pulled the folder out and handed it to him.
Jace took it, glancing briefly at the typed header before tucking it under his arm, turned toward the east wing. Then stopped.
Raymond Carrington stood down the hall. Silver hair, dark coat, fire in his eyes.
Their gazes locked. No words, no smiles, just a silent challenge. Then Raymond walked past, leaving only smoke in his wake.
Jane missed it. She was still picking up her bag.
*****
The Biotexel meeting at 3:12 p.m. was flawless on paper. Handshakes, smiles, promises of drinks later.
But Jace wasn't thinking about the deal. His mind was on that pill bottle.
He slipped into a quiet lounge. A waiter passed, offering champagne. Jace waved it off and took out his phone instead. He glanced around. Empty enough.
He opened his photo gallery and stared at the image he'd secretly snapped before Jane noticed, just moments after he picked up her pill bottle. The photo wasn't much: a close-up of the bottle resting in his palm, and another photo of the pill he'd swallowed, plain and unmarked.
He opened a secure chat. John Raines.
"Did you get the photo?"
The reply came almost instantly.
Reply: This should be a call.
Jace stepped into the balcony, shut the glass door behind him, and dialed.
"One match," John said after the first ring. "It's no herbal. Closest is Dexorin. A sedative. Used for anxiety, memory control... sometimes dissociation."
"Memory control?"
"If taken long-term, yes. Blurs timelines. Dulls emotions. Even manipulates recall."
Jace exhaled, his breath fogging slightly against the breeze.
"I swallowed one of it to distract her."
"Look boss, that stuff is no chamomile. Drugs like this are sometimes prescribed off-the-books PTSD trials.... or to keep witnesses compliant."
"She said her mother sends it."
"Then either she's lying, or her mother is. You want me to dig?"
Jace hesitated.
He looked back through the glass wall. Jane was inside, sorting papers with perfect precision. Too perfect.
"Yes," he said finally. "Start with her mother. Fallon Hayes. I want to know where those pills come from... and if Jane even knows the truth."
"Understood. Twenty-four hours."
Jace hung up. He stood still for a moment, letting the cold air hit his face. The city stretched below, calm and unaware.
This wasn't just a business anymore.
Jane wasn't just an assistant.
She was either a victim...
Or a weapon.
6:52 p.m.
Jace's penthouse was silent.
Golden light from Geneva's evening sky stretched across the polished floor, catching on a leather journal he hadn't touched in days. A half-drained glass of scotch waited on the table, until he picked it up again.
He was half-dressed. Black trousers pressed to a knife's edge, a white shirt hanging loose, buttons misaligned. Barefoot, he paced the room, jaw locked tight.
John's call still gnawed at him. Maybe it was the pill bottle. Maybe Jane's vague answer. Or the way Raymond Carrington had stared at him in the hallway, like he already knew.
The ride back from the conference had been a blur. The chauffeur rambled about traffic, about crowds, an art exhibit down the block. Jace barely noticed.
The phone buzzed on the marble counter, shattering the silence.
He spun, dropping his glass on the table, the liquid sloshing but not spilling, then grabbed the phone before it could ring again.
"Talk," he said.
John's calm voice came through. "I looked into Fallon Hayes."
"And?"
"Nothing obvious. On the surface."
Jace turned toward the city skyline, frowning. "There's always something. Depends how deep you dig."
"She worked for the Carringtons. Thirty years ago. Live-in nanny. Trusted—deeply. Raymond approved her bonuses himself. That's rare."
"Old history," Jace muttered.
"Maybe. But she retired quietly. No scandals, no lawsuits. And she's still in contact with Raymond. Private calls. Regular. Clean. Too clean."
"You think Jane's their child?"
"Possible. But there's nothing concrete. No suspicious transfers. And I haven't been able to trace the prescription. It's all too neat."
Jace's voice dropped. "Nobody's that clean, not around the Carringtons."
"We'll keep digging."
"Dig faster."
Click. Silence again.
He sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. Fallon's past. Jane's pills. Raymond's stare. The puzzle fit, but the picture was wrong.
Lovers? Blackmail?
Enough. Focus.
He rebuttoned his shirt, knotted his tie, and slid into his blazer. Watch. Cufflinks. Shoes.
He drained the last of his scotch, it burned on the way down, but he welcomed it.
Message sent to the driver: Bring the car around.
He opened the door and left the silence behind.