AUBURN DISTRICT, CLARE IN IRELAND; BANKS FASHION HOUSE AND BEAUTY SALON...2 PM
As the calendar turned to May, the Emerald Isle basked in the golden embrace of mid-spring. The skies were an endless stretch of blue, the air rich with the scent of wildflowers blooming along cobbled paths and sun-kissed hedgerows. Delicate petals danced in the breeze like ballerinas in a silent performance.
Tyra Banks stepped into her fashion house with the grace and glow of spring incarnate. She was a vision of loveliness,her complexion radiant, smooth, and glowing like the first blush of dawn. Her skin held a soft sheen that whispered of luxury skincare and obsessive discipline.
Her honey-blonde hair cascaded down her back in golden waves, reminiscent of a river catching sunset light. Each step she took caused the strands to shimmer like silk. Her eyes, striking blue like a summer sky, were bright and alive, framed by thick lashes that enhanced their ethereal beauty. Delicate features adorned her face: high cheekbones, a petite nose, and lips tinted a perfect petal-pink, echoing the blossoms dancing outside the salon's wide windows.
When she smiled, the entire room seemed to glow with her. A light, airy joy radiated from her, like the soft warmth of spring sun soaking into the skin.
She moved with the effortless elegance of a breeze, each sway of her slender figure both commanding and unbothered. Her sundress was bright yellow, floral-patterned, and flowing,an homage to the very season she seemed to embody. The skirt swirled around her ankles with every step, like a trail of petals marking her path.
Tyra was not always present at the office,her acting career demanded much of her time,but she carved out space in her schedule to personally inspect her empire at least once or twice a month. Today was one of those rare days.
She reached the top floor, turned to her manager,who had been trailing her like a cautious shadow,and offered a soft, satisfied smile. "Quite satisfactory."
Carol, who had been visibly tense, immediately relaxed and lit up. "Thank you so much, Miss Banks."
Tyra turned toward her with a light smirk. "What about the account journal? Have I checked it?"
"No, ma. May we go and see?" Carol asked, her tone warm but respectful.
Tyra felt a ripple of appreciation for the woman's honesty. "Sure."
They started toward the elevator, but just before stepping in, Tyra's phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and sighed in mild annoyance. "What is it, Michael?"
"I'm so sorry, Tyra, but the production team just called. They need you back on set,immediately," came the voice of her agency-assigned manager, Michael.
She blinked. "Back to set? I thought I didn't have a scene today," she hissed, already feeling the headache creeping in.
"Yeah, well, the second female lead had an accident. Nothing serious, but she won't be filming today, and they don't want to waste the day."
"Rebekah had an accident? Was it serious?" Tyra asked, her frustration quickly shifting into concern.
"No, no. Just a minor fall while rehearsing. A scratch. But being the paranoid little diva she is, she insisted on going to the hospital."
Michael's dry tone made Tyra chuckle. "She's an actress. Of course, a scratch will send her into a spiral."
People nearby chuckled quietly at her comment, though they were careful not to draw her attention.
"But if it were you," Michael grumbled, "you wouldn't make such a childish request."
"Stop comparing. We're not all the same," she scolded lightly.
"Fine. I won't," he sighed, melodramatically giving in. "Just hurry. Director Gary's hounding me."
Tyra chuckled and ended the call.
"Brione, go prepare the car. I'll meet you outside," she instructed the stunning blonde assistant at her back.
"Okay, ma." Brione nodded and disappeared down the hallway.
Carol looked up at her, concern flickering back into her eyes. "What about the journal, ma?"
"I know you send it to me daily in digital files,and I trust you. I only wanted to see the hard copy for once, just to be sure. But it looks like I'll have to come back another day," Tyra said with a soft smile.
"Just send today's journal to me."
"I will, ma."
"Good. I better get going before Michael drives me mad," Tyra laughed softly.
Brione returned just in time.
"Everything's set?"
"Everything's set," Brione confirmed.
Tyra offered Carol one last warm smile. "Take care of yourself, Miss Banks," Carol said.
"And you," Tyra replied, her eyes sincere. "Take good care of yourself,and my company." She winked playfully.
Brione opened the sleek door of the stunning pink Rolls Royce. Tyra slid into the plush back seat, her presence filling the space with warmth and poise. Brione shut the door and climbed into the front beside the driver.
Carol stood at attention, bowing slightly as she watched the car pull away, its polished exterior glinting in the afternoon sun. Only when the vehicle was out of sight did she return inside.
---
BANKS ENTERPRISE; THE PRESIDENT'S OFFICE; 250th FLOOR
"Come in," Madden Banks said, his voice smooth as silk, laced with dangerous calm. He sat behind a glass desk like a monarch on his throne, sipping macchiato laced with herbs from a porcelain cup.
Ford entered quickly, eyes cast low. "We weren't able to locate the backup files, sir."
Madden's gaze snapped to him, sharp and cold. "I hate bad news. You know that, don't you?"
"I'm sorry, sir."
"You can leave," Madden said, his tone cutting.
Ford flinched, but forced himself to speak. "Sir, we discovered that your father's lawyer isn't dead yet."
Madden paused. The tension in the room spiked.
"Not yet dead?" His voice dropped, dangerously soft.
"Yes, sir. There's a strong chance he has both the original and backup files."
"No. The original isn't with him," Madden said flatly. "If it were, he would've acted by now. But the backup?" His eyes narrowed. "Quite satisfactory."
"Have you found where he's hiding?"
"Not yet, sir. His location is nearly impossible to track, but we're working on it."
"Then work harder. Search every inch of this earth. Every corner, every shadow. Search mortuaries, cemeteries,hell, dig up coffins if you have to. I want him found." Madden's voice was a lethal whisper, soaked in hatred.
"Yes, sir. We'll find him." Ford stood straighter, his voice more certain now.
"Anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Then leave."
Ford turned, reaching for the door, but Madden's voice stopped him cold.
"Wait."
Ford froze, hand still on the knob. He turned slowly. "What do you want me to do, sir?"
"I need you to find three private investigators."
Ford blinked. "Three...?"
"The best the world has ever seen," Madden added, his lips curling into a dangerous smirk.
Ford hesitated. "You want to investigate something?"
He immediately regretted the question. Who was he to ask?
But Madden didn't scold him. He answered.
"Yes."
Ford opened his mouth to reply, intending to say "Okay, sir",but what came out instead was...
"What?"
The word hung in the air like a death sentence. Ford cursed himself inwardly.
Madden turned toward him slowly, his circular eyes flickering with cold, black fire.
"Italy."