When she eventually reached her apartment, it felt hollow and lonely. She stripped off her coat and threw it on the couch, then opened the laptop on her desk.
If Kathleen didn’t believe her, she wasn’t going to chase her like some wounded romantic. But she had snuck into her heart and she now felt responsible for her. If she wanted to protect her, it meant she had to investigate Darlene.
When the screen lit up, she typed the name:Darlene Hunt.
Numerous results popped up. A motivational speaker in Atlanta. A retired real estate agent in Ontario. A nun in Wisconsin. No one looked like her.
She narrowed it to New York, to Manhattan. Still too many names. When she tried cross-referencing:Darlene Hunt + Langford Agency,nothing appeared which wasn’t surprising. Elise was meticulous about protecting her clientele.
Marise frowned, wondering where to go.
Then she remembered the woman was twice divorced. She found no reference to her first marriage, but recalled Darlene, in one of their conversations, mentioned her second husband, Bill, was a banker. When she typed in William Hunt, many sites appeared and then—bingo—she hit pay dirt.
A former Rhodes Scholar and Oxford graduate in economics, William Hunt was Chief Executive Officer of the Barlow International Bank. He began in investment banking in London, pivoted to risk management during the GFC, and was now one of the most influential private bankers in the United States. He had three adult children to his first wife, Bernice.
She scrolled through his digital footprint, found nothing, then moved on to images at functions where he was photographed with many known dignitaries. She eventually found what she was looking for. It was a picture taken at an award night—William in a black tuxedo, arm in arm with a striking woman in emerald green, the caption reading:“William Hunt arrives at the International Finance Awards with his wife, Mrs. Fay Darlene Hunt.”
She blinked.That was why nothing had come up. She hadn’t vanished. She’d been hiding in plain sight—behind her full legal name. Darlene was her second name; no wonder she couldn’t find her. She loaded the image in high resolution to see it clearly. It was her, dressed in a stunning gown, with her hand resting on William Hunt’s arm.
The marriage ended five years ago and she’d walked away with a generous portfolio of international real estate, and a controlling interest in an energy-focused trust fund.
Recently, Darlene was rumoured to be romantically involved with Sheikh Faisal bin Halid al-Nouri, an oil magnate from Dubai with significant holdings in both solar and fossil fuel sectors. Sources suggest she was now acting in his interest, scouting Western scientific innovations for acquisition or neutralisation.
Marise shut the laptop slowly and stared out at the city lights. She didn’t have all the answers, but the shape of the game was becoming clear.
Darlene had an interest in the oil industry and was dangerous.
If Kathleen’s work was what Marise suspected, if it had the potential to undermine oil and energy monopolies, then Darlene wasn’t some bored socialite with a taste for women.
She had come to New York to investigate Kathleen.
Marise dressed carefully for her date with Ted.
She pulled on a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to her elbows, dark jeans that hugged her hips, and low-heeled boots. The look suited the Cass Mullins she’d invented, the down-to-earth science editor who was a bit of a nerd. Cass was approachable, and enigmatic enough to be intriguing. The persona was uncomplicated and easy to discard when the time came.
She pinned her hair in a low ponytail and added two small silver studs into her ears. On her way out, she grabbed her blackleather coat and checked the burner phone she used as Cass. One new message from Ted:"On my way. See you soon."
Greg’s Steakhouse was a wood-and-brick corner restaurant in Midtown, a popular eating place judging by the cars parked outside. Ted was already waiting when she arrived, standing beneath the awning, rubbing his hands together in the cold.
“You look great,” he said with a grin.
“It’s good to see you, Ted,” Marise replied. He’d made an effort—clean jacket and hair brushed neatly.
“They reckon the food’s good here,” he said as they stepped inside.
Marise looked around, liking what she saw; the lighting was warm and the booths were deep enough to guarantee privacy. “This is cool,” she said.
They were led to a booth in the back corner. The waitress handed them menus, and Marise let him order first—ribeye, medium, mashed potatoes, asparagus—and mirrored his order when the waitress turned to her. They chose a bottle of red to split.
Ted leaned forward once the waitress had gone. “So, Cass, tell me something about you I wouldn’t find in a resume.”
Marise smiled faintly. “I once spent a summer cataloguing toxic algae bloom. I smelled like pond scum for three months.”
He laughed, and for a moment, it felt normal. Banter, warmth, the gentle nudge of possible flirtation. But Marise wasn’t here for normal.
“So,” she said, after some small talk. “Busy at the lab?”
Ted nodded. “More than ever. The project’s hitting the final phase, and it’s crunch time.”
