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One night in the Four Seasons Hotel George V in Paris, in a small suite because this trip had been a sudden decision due to work concerns, a mobile phone buzzed on the dresser beside a sumptuous bed.
Arthur Finch-Hatten thumbed the phone’s screen and brought it to his face, but he didn’t say anything. His chin stubble grated on the glass front.
A man’s voice asked, “Hello? Lord Finch-Hatten? Maxence Grimaldi is missing.”
Arthur rolled over and stared at the ceiling.
Beside him, his wife, Gen, stirred but didn’t wake up. He was always whispering into his phone in the middle of the night. She didn’t bother to wake up anymore, especially now that she was carrying their child and needed sleep.
Arthur said quietly, “Max always goes missing. You tossers lose him twice a week in those rural outbacks he inhabits.”
The unidentified voice said, “He went missing in Monaco. He was in the middle of the casino, and then we lost him. It’s been four hours.”
“On my way.”
