Chapter 200 069
SHANTEL’S room was arranged like a war table.
More photographs of Amelia clipped to a board. Notes written in careful ink. Timelines mapped out with arrows and question marks. At the center of the desk lay her jotter, opened to a fresh page with bold letters at the top:
TUESDAY – 2PM – RESORT CAFÉ.
The one she had underlined twice.
Every Tuesday, like ritual, Amelia Harlow spent her afternoon at the café inside her very own resort. Same corner. Same order. Same time frame. She knew this info at the tip of her fingers.
Predictability was comfort to some people. To Shantel, it was leverage.
She glanced at the clock. 2:03 p.m.
Her alarm chimed softly at 2:05.
She dropped her pen immediately and picked up her phone.
No call. No message. Her brows drew together. That was unusual, unexpected.
Her informant had been instructed to text the minute Amelia stepped into the café. A simple: “She is here.”
Nothing.
“It is still early,” she muttered to herself, setting the phone back down.
Perhaps Amelia was running late.
At 2:10, the second alarm went off.
Still nothing. Now her fingers hovered over the phone longer.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
By 2:15, when the final reminder chimed, her patience snapped. She grabbed the phone and dialed.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then clicked.
“Hello?”
“What is keeping you?” Shantel whispered sharply, pacing away from her desk as though someone might overhear her irritation.
“Ah… madam,” the young man replied, his voice low and cautious. “That is why I wanted to call you too.”
“What do you mean?” Her steps halted.
“I haven’t seen her.”
A brief silence.
“Excuse me?”
“She hasn’t come in today.”
“That is impossible,” Shantel said immediately. “It is Tuesday. Right,” she added the “right” as though she wasn't sure what day it was again.
“I know, ma. I have been stationed close to the café entrance since 1:40 like you said. She hasn’t walked in.”
Shantel’s fingers curled tighter around the phone.
“Did you check the VIP parking lot?”
“Yes. Her car isn’t even there.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What about the main entrance? Maybe she used a different access point.”
“I asked one of the security guys casually. He said he hasn’t seen her either.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” she muttered under her breath.
Every Tuesday.
Without fail.
“She didn’t cancel anything, did she?” Shantel pressed.
“Cancel what, madam?”
“Her reservation. Her usual corner.”
“There was no even a reservation logged for her today.”
That made Shantel go very still.
No reservation?
Amelia always had that corner cleared.
Always.
“Are you sure you are not missing out something?” she asked coldly.
“I’m sure. I even casually walked in and passed by the admin office. She hasn’t stepped into the building today.”
A flicker of unease slid through Shantel’s chest.
“That is strange,” she murmured.
“Maybe she is coming later?” the man suggested weakly.
“She doesn’t come later.”
“Maybe she is busy?”
Shantel exhaled slowly through her nose.
Busy doing what?
She tapped her fingers against her thigh.
“Did you see her driver? He drives her sometimes.”
“No.”
“Her assistant?”
“No, ma.”
Another pause.
The silence between them thickened.
“Okay,” she said at last, her tone smoothing out deliberately. “Stay alert. If she walks in, you text me immediately.”
“Yes, ma.”
“And don’t look obvious. Blend in.”
“Sure. I'm not a dunce.”
She ended the call without another word.
The room fell quiet again.
Shantel returned to her desk slowly.
Her eyes dropped to those underlined words again:
TUESDAY – 2PM – RESORT CAFÉ.
She picked up her pen and hovered over the page.
Amelia had broken routine.
Why?
A woman like Amelia didn’t move randomly. Everything about her was structured and intentional. Calculated.
She had studied her long enough to know.
Which meant this wasn’t an accident.
Shantel’s lips curved faintly.
“Interesting,” she whispered.
Either Amelia was sick. Or she was elsewhere.
And if she was elsewhere…
Where?
Her pen finally touched the paper.
She drew a line through 2PM.
Then wrote beneath it:
Change of pattern?
Her gaze darkened thoughtfully.
If Amelia wasn’t at the resort café today, then something had shifted in her schedule.
And if something had shifted…
Shantel needed to find out what.
And immediately.
Charles paced the length of his small room like a caged animal.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
His slippers scraped lightly against the tiled floor as his eyes remained glued to the phone in his hand. The device felt heavier than usual, as though it carried the weight of every bad decision he had made in the last few weeks.
He dragged his fingers through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time, exhaling sharply. His jaw tightened. His brows furrowed. Restlessness clung to him like a second skin.
“Pick up… pick up…” he muttered under his breath as he dialed the number.
The call rang.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
No answer.
“Damn it!” he snapped, cutting the call and dialing again almost immediately.
Beads of sweat gathered at his temple despite the fan whirring lazily overhead. His heart thudded louder than necessary for something as simple as a phone call.
It rang again.
Still no answer.
He swore under his breath, pacing faster now.
On the third attempt, just when he was about to lose his mind, the line clicked.
“Guy, what is going on? What’s up?” the voice came through, slightly breathless.
Charles halted mid-stride.
“Ken,” he breathed out, relief and irritation mixing in equal measure. “What the hell is going on? You were supposed to give me feedback yesterday.”
There was a pause on the other end.
Ken sighed.
“Bro… we have hit another big problem.”
Charles closed his eyes briefly.
“What problem?” His tone sharpened.
“The backend architecture we are using can’t handle the current user simulation load. When we stress-tested it yesterday, the server kept crashing. And the payment integration API isn’t syncing properly with the in-app purchases.”
Charles stared blankly ahead.
“Speak English, Ken.”
Ken exhaled again.
“We need to migrate to a stronger cloud server and rebuild part of the payment gateway. The current one is too unstable. If we launch like this, we will get bad reviews immediately. The app might even freeze on users.”
Silence.
“How much?” Charles asked quietly.
“That is the thing,” Ken replied. “We need additional funding for the server upgrade, developer overtime, and security patches. The cybersecurity consultant we contacted said we also need stronger encryption if we are dealing with real transactions.”
Charles felt the air leave his lungs.
“How much?” he repeated, slower this time.
“Not less than two million.”
Charles’ eyes widened.
“Two what?”
“Million. At least. And that is if we want it done properly and fast.”
For a moment, Charles couldn’t speak.
Two million.
His mind immediately did its own calculation.
The money he had spent at the restaurant. The bill he had been forced to pay when Amelia ignored him. The bold promise he had made about funding her Bahamas trip. The small balance left in his account that was barely breathing.
He ran a hand over his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” he asked hoarsely.
“We just confirmed the extent of it this morning. I didn’t want to panic you without full details.”
“Panic me?” Charles let out a hollow laugh. “You think I’m not panicking now?”
Ken kept quiet.
Charles resumed pacing, slower now.
Where was he going to get that kind of money from? His savings were thin. Investors? None secured yet.
Loans? Risky.
And Amelia…
His jaw tightened.
She hadn’t said anything outright, but lately, something about her had shifted. That restaurant incident still bothered him. The way she had casually ignored his usual tactics. The way she had made him pay.
He could feel it.
She wasn’t as easily accessible financially as before.
But then again… maybe he was overthinking.
Maybe if he approached her carefully.
Maybe.
He stopped pacing.
“Okay,” he said finally, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Fix it.”
“What?” Ken asked.
“Fix the problem. Start the migration. Do whatever you have to do.”
“But the funds—”
“I will send the money latest next week,” Charles cut in quickly.
There was a brief pause.
“Are you sure?” Ken asked cautiously.
“Yes. I said I will handle it.”
Ken seemed to relax slightly.
“Alright. I will send you the detailed breakdown and projections to your laptop. You need to see the numbers.”
“Do that,” Charles replied.
“And Charles?”
“Yeah?”
“We are close. Once this is sorted, the app will be solid.”
Charles swallowed.
“Yeah. It better be.”
They ended the call.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Charles stood in the middle of the room, phone still in his hand, staring at nothing.
Then suddenly—
“God! God! God!” he shouted, his voice cracking with frustration.
He kicked lightly at the edge of his bed.
“What is all this?” he groaned, dragging both hands down his face.
His handsome features twisted into raw anguish. The confident charm he carried around others was nowhere to be found now. All that remained was a man cornered by his own ambition.
Two million dollars.
By next week.
He exhaled slowly.
Amelia.
She had left for her trip this morning. He hadn’t even called her since she left. Maybe now was the right time. Maybe he could check in on her. Ease into conversation. Be sweet. Be attentive.
Then gradually…
He stared down at his phone again.
Yes.
That was the only realistic option for now.
He scrolled to her name.
His thumb hovered for only a second before he pressed dial.
He lifted the phone to his ear, forcing his breathing to steady as it began to ring.