“What are futures looking like for Sullivan Arms stock? Did news of Sophia’s disappearance impact stock price at all?”

Erik rubs the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up higher as he considers my question.

“Shiloh!” he shouts.

A young woman with bright blue hair twisted into pinwheels on the top of her head appears. The overhead lights reflect off her eyebrow and nose rings.

“Yeah?” She rocks back on the heels of heavy black boots. Rips cover her jeans, and her loose, unbuttoned flannel partially hides a faded cropped t-shirt.

“Can you pull stock price history for Sullivan Arms for the past five years? And set up an alert. I want to be notified of any sharp swings in the stock moving forward.”

“Yep.” She shoves her hands in her front pockets.

“What?” Erik asks her.

“I don’t know if it means anything. But I’m working the deets on the company executives.”

Erik tilts his head at her and gives her a wilting look. Patience isn’t his strength. Since he’s normally up in Napa, I don’t often get to see him interact with his employees, but Shiloh appears unfazed.

“I got their photos off the company site. I ran facial recognition through the security footage, and a couple of these guys visit his house all the fucking time.”

“He works from home,” Erik says, and his fingers fall back to his keyboard.

“But there are a couple who come by when he’s not home. To the point I started wondering if, ya know, there might be a little reverse age gap going on. You know, back when we thought she might have run away. So, I started cataloging the dates. I don’t have names for all of the men, because, you know, they aren’t all board members, but I’m filing the unknowns by face. If you want to see. I mean, the super-frequent visitors…I doubt there was any romantic action. The age gap would be pretty massive.”

“Send me one photo of each unidentified visitor. We’ll send to Sullivan for identification.”

She spins on her heel and speeds out of the room.

“FBI will be getting involved.” Erik states this as fact and directs his attention to me. “We’ve got two dozen working this. Let me know when to pull them.”

“I’ve got an FBI contact stopping by this morning. We’ll show him what we have. We stay on it until we’re told otherwise. Let me call Sullivan again. When I called earlier, his friend Wayne answered. Said he made him shower.”

Trevor raps on the door. “Guys. We’ve got an issue.” He pauses, pointedly staring down Alex.

“It’s okay. She’s working with us,” I tell him. Although I should have Stella send her an NDA.

“One of our security details in Syria. Bomb. One hour ago. Jagger’s on a medivac. Critical condition. Our client is in a safe house, but the team is short. Stella is working on reassignments so we can get some coverage asap. I’m heading to Damascus.”