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Mr Lay hunched over his desk, his fingers tapping nervously against the edge of his coffee mug. The afternoon light streamed through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room, but it did little to brighten his mood.

Julian Marlowe was dead.

The police had found him this morning, around 8 a.m., in his garden, dead at the foot of the stone wall. Julian’s body lay twisted, the telltale signs of a fall from a great height. Scattered papers were found in his room, one of which was a copy of The Silent Shadow, the manuscript nearly ready for publication. The last chapter was missing, torn out deliberately by someone, as if to erase the final piece of the story.

The forensic pathologist had called it a suicide, but Mr. Lay wasn’t convinced. Why would Julian take his own life just a day after scheduling a meeting with someone? And the police’s story — claiming he had too much debt — felt flimsy, almost as if it had been concocted to explain away something far more complicated.

The only good news was that now Mr. Lay could confirm, with certainty, that Julian Marlowe was indeed the author of The Silent Shadow. The evidence found in the scattered papers was undeniable. The manuscript, nearly ready for publication, was in Julian’s room, untouched by anyone else. But the missing chapter, the abrupt end, the mysterious appointment—it all felt like a puzzle with pieces that didn’t quite fit.

He leaned back in his chair, his mind spinning. What did Julian want to say in that last chapter? And who had gone to such lengths to deliberately rip it out? Someone didn’t want that final piece of the story to be told, but why? And what could Julian have revealed that was so important? The timing of it all — Julian’s sudden death, the missing chapter, the strange circumstances surrounding his supposed suicide. Whoever had taken the last chapter knew it held a secret, a revelation that could change everything. But what was it? And why did they want it buried so badly?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lay,” a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Mr. Lay blinked and looked up, startled from the spiral of his own musings. Standing in the doorway was David.

“Sorry if I interrupted you,” David continued, stepping into the room with an apologetic smile, “but I think you’ll want to hear this. The police just released something new.” He held up a folder, the paper inside barely rustling as he placed it on the desk.