Lured by blood, caught by shadows

Geneva, Switzerland – Early Afternoon

The sun spilled over the slate rooftops of Geneva like a calm sigh, casting the city in a quiet brilliance that felt both ancient and impossibly modern. Serena stepped out of the airport terminal, dragging her carry on behind her as the automated glass doors whispered shut behind her.

A cold breeze picked up, carrying the scent of mountain air mixed with faint exhaust. She paused on the curb, momentarily disoriented, not by the journey, but by the gravity of what she was about to do.

From the pocket of her coat, she unfolded a single sheet of paper. The handwriting was her own, a scribbled transcription of the address the private investigator had emailed her yesterday. She'd written it down on impulse, as if committing it to paper made it more real or more personal.

Rue du Mont-Blanc 12, Geneva.

It stared back at her in ink. A location. A direction. A possible truth.

She folded the paper again, not neatly this time, and tucked it in her purse.

A black taxi rolled to a gentle stop in front of her.

"Parlez-vous anglais?" she asked, opening the door.

The driver gave a quick nod. "Of course."

She slid inside, barely noticing the elegance of the leather seats or the soft jazz spilling from the radio.

"Rue du Mont-Blanc," she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm rising in her chest.

As the car pulled away from the airport and merged into the flow of Geneva's calm precision, Serena leaned her forehead against the cool glass window, eyes tracing the lakeside horizon.

She didn't know what she'd find when she reached the address.

But for the first time in months… she felt like she was chasing something that mattered.

*******************

Detroit, Vale Residence, late Morning

Back in Detroit, the world was unraveling.

Miranda Vale stood at the edge of her living room, frozen in place as the lead private investigator closed his file and delivered the final detail.

"She booked a one way ticket to Geneva yesterday," he said. "Name confirmed. Serena Vale."

Damien, seated nearby with his arms folded, straightened suddenly. "Geneva? For what?"

The investigator glanced at Miranda, hesitant. "We don't know yet. No check-ins since. But she boarded the plane last night. She's gone."

Miranda's chest rose once, sharply.

Damien stood. "Is she in danger?"

Miranda didn't answer. Her face was unreadable. But inside, she knew exactly what Serena was chasing and exactly who she might find.

Without a word, she turned and walked out of the room.

"Miranda?" Damien called, following after her.

She didn't stop. Her heels clicked in quick, controlled panic as she climbed the stairs. Behind her, Damien watched helplessly.

"Is someone going to tell me what the hell is in Geneva?" he muttered.

But Miranda had already vanished behind the door to her private quarters.

And inside, her hands trembled.

Serena knew.

She was going after Richard Calhoun.

***********

Detroit – Outside a Quiet Side Street near the Ford Research Lab – Late Morning

The rumble of Alex's Mustang Mach-E echoed off the curved steel facade of the Ford Innovation Tower as he pulled into the side lot, the engine hum barely masking the storm behind his eyes.

He had barely killed the ignition when a hand slammed against the driver-side window.

Alex turned his head slowly.

Damien Rothschild.

The polished heir looked nothing like the prince of last night's gala. His tie was gone, his sleeves rolled up, and frustration burned through the cracks in his perfect composure.

Alex opened the door and stepped out.

"What do you want?" he asked flatly.

Damien didn't waste time. "Where is she?"

Alex narrowed his eyes. "Who?"

"Don't play dumb," Damien snapped. "Serena. She's in Geneva. Isn't she? Isn't that your doing?"

Alex froze for half a second. "What are you talking about?"

Damien scoffed. "You're telling me you don't know? She booked a flight last night. Landed in Switzerland this morning. You really expect me to believe she vanished on her own, without you helping?"

Alex's stare sharpened. "Geneva?"

Damien stepped closer, his voice rising. "I saw how you two looked at each other. You think I didn't notice? She was slipping away, and you what? You helped her escape?"

But Alex wasn't listening anymore.

He was already walking toward the driver's side again.

Damien grabbed his arm. "You think this is some game between us? You don't know what you're making her do!"

Alex turned to him, eyes cold now. "And you do?"

Damien hesitated.

That pause was all Alex needed.

He got in, shut the door and drove off really fast.

Damien stood in the lot, stunned.

The puzzle pieces snapped into place in real time.

Alex didn't know.

But now he did.

"Shit," Damien muttered, staring down the street where the car had disappeared.

********************

Geneva, Switzerland – Quiet Apartment Complex Near the Lake

The taxi slowed to a stop in front of a quiet, modest apartment complex nestled near the icy blue edge of Lake Geneva. The street was empty save for a few parked cars and the distant hum of water lapping against the shore.

Serena stepped out, clutching the folded paper in her hand, the address handwritten in tight, neat script. She handed the driver his fare and stood for a moment, staring at the building like it might breathe if she blinked too hard.

Her breath fogged slightly in the cool afternoon air.

This was it.

She climbed the short steps, nerves coiling with every footfall. She rang the bell, but got silence as a response.

She knocked, louder this time and still nothing.

Her heart raced. Hesitantly, she tried the handle and it opened.

Inside, the air was stale but clean, like someone had lived there not long ago but hadn't returned in a while. She stepped in slowly, calling out, "Hello? Is anyone here?"

No answer.

She closed the door behind her and walked deeper inside. The living room was simple but neat, stacked books, a few tools and sketches of engine parts spread across a small table. She moved closer, eyes narrowing at the blueprints: hybrid engines, circuit schematics... All automotive.

A framed photo sat on a bookshelf. Her father.

Richard Calhoun.

Her fingers trembled as she picked it up.

There were more photos. Photos of a younger Serena. Her first ballet recital. Her high school graduation. One with her mother, Miranda, standing beside Richard, both smiling, a moment frozen in time she had never seen in her life.

Then… a single framed Ford logo on the wall.

Serena stared at it, her heart in her throat. She opened her mouth to say something, anything but her voice caught.

There were so many questions.

Why had he left? Why had her mother kept this from her? Why did it all connect to Ford?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sharp screech of tires outside.

A car.

Or rather, two or three.

She rushed to the window and pulled the blinds aside.

Three black SUVs had pulled up. Armed men were stepping out, fast and coordinated. Serena's breath hitched. She backed away from the window in panic.

Before she could run, she collided with a man already inside the apartment.

Tall, dressed in black and armed.

She gasped, staggering back. "Please who are you?"

His grip tightened around her arm. He didn't say a word as more men flooded the room from the main entrance, scanning every corner.

"Where is Richard Calhoun?" one of them barked.

"I don't know," she cried. "I just got here, I swear, I don't know!"

"Search the house," the lead man ordered.

The others dispersed upstairs, kicking doors open and searching.

Serena trembled as the man holding her dragged her toward the center of the room.

Who were these men and why were they after her father?

*****************

Meanwhile – A Black Sedan Parked Two Blocks Away

Inside a dark vehicle tucked beneath a line of trees, another man sat quietly. His face remained obscured beneath a lowered cap and sunglasses, a communication device fitted to his ear and a long range binocular lens pressed to his eyes.

He watched everything, the arrival, the storming of the apartment, Serena being pulled from the house unconscious and placed in the rear vehicle.

He lowered the binoculars, picked up his phone, and dialed.

"They've taken her," he said calmly. "Target extracted by unknown operatives. Looks like someone else is interested in Calhoun too."

He waited as there was a silence.

"Do we intervene?"

There was silence another silence.

Then:

"Copied."

He ended the call and the binoculars went back up.

The cars disappeared into the fog.

And Geneva swallowed another secret whole.

*******************

William Clay Ford Jr.'s Office – Ford Global Headquarters, Detroit

The office was a sleek fortress of steel and glass, perched like a throne room at the top of the Ford Empire. Behind the wide desk, floor-to-ceiling windows framed the sprawling Detroit skyline. The afternoon light poured in, unbothered by the storm about to unravel inside.

The door opened without announcement.

Miranda Vale stepped inside, breath shallow, her heels pausing only long enough to let the door close behind her. Tears rimmed her eyes, but she held her voice together with the same steel she'd worn for decades.

"William," she said, quietly at first. "I need your help."

William Clay Ford Jr. looked up from behind the desk, surprised by the rare intrusion. "Miranda?"

Her composure cracked. "It's Serena. She's missing. I think... no... I know she's in danger."

William stood slowly. "What happened? Where is she?"

"She left Detroit. She went to Geneva. To find him."

"Him?" William echoed.

Miranda's voice faltered. Then she swallowed the fear. "Her father. Richard Calhoun. I never told her. But she found out. She's there… alone."

William's face changed.

For a brief moment, something like recognition and concern cut through the mask of power he always wore.

Before he could respond, the door to the office burst open again.

Alex stormed in, breath ragged, eyes wild. "Father! I need your help. It's Serena..."

He stopped short.

Miranda turned slowly, stunned.

"Father?" she repeated, blinking.

Her gaze darted between William and Alex.

Alex stood frozen.

There was no more hiding.

William exhaled and walked around the desk. "Miranda," he said calmly. "Allow me to properly introduce you. This is my son, Alexander Ford."

Silence thundered in the room.

Miranda's mouth opened slightly, the pieces snapping together like a glass shattering in slow motion.

"You're a Ford?" she breathed. "You're his son? You've been… the invisible heir this whole time?"

Alex looked away briefly, jaw tight. Then finally said, "Yes. But that's not the issue right now."

He stepped forward, urgency in every breath. "Serena's in Geneva. I don't know why but I need to find her."

William didn't respond immediately.

Instead, he nodded slowly, a shadow passing behind his eyes. "She's not just in Geneva," he said quietly. "She's in danger."

Alex blinked. "Danger? What do you mean?"

Miranda turned to William, then stepped forward, her voice trembling. "She went there for one reason. To find him."

Alex's brows drew together. "Who?"

"Her father," Miranda whispered. "Her real father, Richard Calhoun."

The name hit the room like a thunderclap.

Alex froze. "Her... father?"

Miranda's voice broke. "She was never supposed to know. I buried that part of our past for her sake. But now… she's chasing him and that is the most dangerous thing she could have done."