"Another case closed… another girl gone," she thought bitterly. Justice felt hollow sometimes. No one ever got the full story—not really. All she could do was try. One case at a time.
Her office was small but tidy. Framed newspaper clippings lined the walls, showcasing her early achievements. The scent of stale coffee lingered in the air, mixed with the dry smell of old paper and printer ink.
"Huh… I'm so tired," mumbled the girl with a ginger ponytail neatly tied at the back.
She'd had a rough day. A last-minute client had walked in needing urgent help. Lately, sleep had been a luxury, especially with the intensity of her most recent case. It was about a missing girl—gone for a week with no trace.
The police investigated the girl's background but found nothing suspicious, so they hired a private investigator.
That investigator was her.
The case wrapped up after she found solid evidence linking the fifteen-year-old girl, Marie Payne, to a strange, much older man she had been secretly dating for years. Things had recently turned sour between them. The parents hadn't even known the relationship existed.
Maya uncovered the truth through student testimonies and hidden notes in Marie's high school. Eventually, Marie's boyfriend was arrested for her murder—his rage spiraling into violence. He had killed her in a fit of jealousy and fury.
The case was closed, but the emotional weight of it still clung to Maya's thoughts. She had even been called as a witness during the final investigation. The trauma, the horror—it stayed with her, heavy and cold like a storm cloud.
She sank onto the couch inside her office, completely drained. She grabbed a blanket and pillow from the wardrobe and lay down, ready to sleep at last.
RING!! RING!!
"Ugh… come in," she grumbled in a lazy tone, her eyes barely open.
She pulled herself off the couch and walked to the desk, reaching for the ringing phone. With the receiver pressed to her ear, she grabbed a notebook from a nearby shelf.
"Hello, Bureau Investigation Company. How may I help you?" she said, instantly brightening her voice into a professional and cheerful tone.
The switch came naturally. Work mode: activated.
"Hi. I'm Luke, the butler of the House of Antony. I would like to use your services," said a deep, professional voice on the other end.
Antony?! You mean that Antony?!
Maya froze. Her breath caught in her throat. The name alone sent a jolt through her.
She struggled to keep her composure, took a deep breath, and forced herself to stay calm and professional.
"I understand, sir. May I ask—will this be for an investigation or documentation purposes?"
"For investigation," Luke replied, straight to the point.
"Understood. Where is the location?" she asked, pen poised over the notebook.
"It's at the mansion located in a town called Yorkshire. 23rd Street, California."
"Got it. I may need some time to travel there, as I'm currently based in a different city. Would that be alright?"
"Yes, of course. Please take your time," said the butler, his tone warm and understanding.
"Thank you. I'll contact you again once I arrive."
"I'll be waiting," Luke replied.
"May I have your contact number before we end the call?"
"Certainly. It's 012-25766745—my personal number. You can call me anytime."
"I see. Thank you."
"You're welcome," he said before ending the call.
Maya stood still, clutching the phone. Her heart was racing.
"Oh my God?! The Antony family… THE Antony family called me?! I… I'm so lucky!!! AAAHHH!!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the office.
She started jumping up and down, spinning in circles. The adrenaline kicked in.
The Antony family was legendary—a global business empire spanning over fifty years. They were involved in multiple industries: cosmetics, clothing, technology, and more. Recognized worldwide, they were consistently ranked among the top five wealthiest families in existence.
And the current head? Robert Antony—a young, brilliant businessman known for his love of ancient architecture and historical artifacts. Word had it he was planning to launch a new business venture, and now he needed her help.
"This is it," she whispered, still breathless.
"This could change everything."
But reality set in fast.
She needed to go to Yorkshire. Immediately.
With urgency surging through her, she rushed to her nearby apartment, quickly packed her things into a duffle bag, and slapped a CLOSED sign on her office door.
Thankfully, her apartment and office were just next to each other—convenient when your job called at odd hours.
She headed straight into town. The streets were buzzing with evening activity—people heading home, stores closing up, warm lights flickering in windows.
She moved quickly, weaving through the crowd until she reached the end of the main road. A left turn led her into a narrow valley street, where the town's train station stood tall—grand, old, and always busy.
The station was alive with energy. Footsteps echoed on the marble floor, announcements murmured over loudspeakers, and the scent of roasted peanuts and oil filled the air. People bustled in and out of gates, dragging suitcases and sipping coffee.
She entered the ticket hall, purchased her ticket to Yorkshire, and moved to the waiting area.
Finding a bench, she sat down and let herself breathe again.
She looked at her ticket, heart still fluttering.
"Yorkshire… here I come," she murmured with a smile.