Vivian looked at the suitcase, only half-packed, and realized that she was a bit more hesitant about the trip ahead of her than she’d thought. In planning, she’d assumed it would take no longer than two days, so her return trip was two nights from now. The digital tickets were saved to her phone and she’d already looked at them twice today as if to make sure she’d really done it…that she was really going.
It was both strange and terrifying to know that in about six hours, she could be sitting across from her sister somewhere in Geneva. That was, of course, if Olivia didn’t run away the moment they crossed paths. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, not from the early morning chill, but from a cocktail of anticipation and dread.
As children, back before their mother had died and their father, Rupert Fox, had fully committed himself to a life of heists and illegal adventures, she and her sister had been referred to as Viv and Liv. Like they were some sort of pop group or cartoon pairing. A duo inseparable by heart, if not by destiny. Now, Vivian silently rehearsed the words she had imagined saying to Olivia for years, each syllable heavy with the weight of unspoken history. That cute little nickname sounded more like a curse, and she was afraid there was no way to repair the rift between them.
Olivia had moved away so she wouldn’t be found. That had been apparent. And since Vivian had found her…what now?
That’s what this trip was supposed to answer.
She glanced at the clock; it was barely past seven in the morning. The flight was a bit after eleven. Time seemed to both drag and sprint in these last hours before departure.
Vivian moved around her living room, ensuring windows were locked, electronics unplugged. She couldn't shake off the feeling that she was forgetting something crucial, a nagging whisper that there was more to prepare than just securing her home.
Her mind drifted to Nils Carlson, the retired Interpol agent who had finally given her what years of searching couldn’t—Olivia's location. It was Nils's meticulous nature and his old contacts that had traced Olivia to a quiet life in an often-overlooked town in Europe. A life devoid of crime and, painfully, devoid of Vivian.
The Foxes were known for their artistry in theft, a lineage of larceny that Vivian had inherited and honed to perfection. To her father’s credit, he’d at least waited until his wife had passed away at the early age of forty-three before fully committing himself. Vivian had found the lifestyle alluring and, in an odd way, fulfilling. Setting your own hours, defying the law, taking advantage of systems that overpriced certain works of art just to stuff the pockets of those already rich. Her father had only argued a single time when Vivian had wanted to learn the trade. And then, when she’d gotten very good, Rupert had distance himself from his daughter, not wanting to bring her down with him. This had proved a stroke of genius, as he’d been convicted of murder during an attempted heist where he’d been caught and apprehended.
Vivian had turned her back on her surviving family long before all of this, though. All it had taken was her first successful heist—a job that had only netted her fifteen grand. Once Olivia had seen that her sister had also fallen by the wayside, she left home. More than that, she left the country.
And up until now, Vivian had no idea where Olivia was staying. But that had all changed now, thanks to Nils. Her little sister had chosen to walk away rather than be tainted by the family business.
Somehow, with all her pacing around the apartment, Vivian had come back to her suitcase. She’d packed enough for four days even though she only planned to be gone for two. Even if things went incredibly well, she knew she’d have to come back to Lyon. While Director Garnett had okayed this trip, she’d stressed that Vivan needed to be back quickly. After all, Vivian had only been with Interpol for five weeks now; it would do neither of them any good if others began to take note of the special attention and certain privileges Vivian was getting.
You’re done packing, she told herself. You know you are. Zip the damned suitcase and be done with it. No sense in being scared about this…
The zipper hummed its final note as Vivian smoothed the fabric edges of her suitcase, ensuring nothing was caught in its teeth. Her hand hovered above the case, ready to snap it shut when the shrill cry of her phone sliced through the silence of the room.
It was an intrusion, an unwelcome one, and Vivian's heart sank even before she glanced at the caller ID. It would be the airline, telling her the flight was canceled. Or maybe it would be Nils, telling her that he’d gotten some new intel and he’d been wrong about Geneva.
But when she looked at the caller display, she saw that it was Director Garnett. The name alone set off alarm bells in her mind, stirring a mix of respect and resentment.
She answered cautiously. “This is Vivian Fox.”
"Fox…there's been a development," Garnett's voice came through, brisk and unyielding as always.
“Okay…”
Vivian was waiting for the rest of the comment. A development. But here she was, on the verge of leaving for a trip that Garnett herself had given the green light. But apparently, Garnett didn’t feel like explaining herself today. Vivian couldn’t stand the silence, so she said the very thing that was on her mind.
"Director, I'm due to be on a plane in just over three hours," Vivian reminded her, the grip on her phone tightening. She could feel the trip slowly slipping away. And as she came to terms with this, it was then that she realized just how badly she wanted to go.
"I approved your leave, yes," Garnett acknowledged. "But that was before this situation arose."
Vivian’s stomach clenched. "What situation?"
"An urgent case," Garnett replied, her tone uncompromising. "I need you and Sterling on it immediately. Whether you and Sterling have figured it out yet, you’ve basically become my go-to team for all art-related matters."
"Director, I have non-refundable tickets," Vivian protested, trying to keep her voice level despite the rising tide of frustration within her. "This trip is important. You know that."
"Your skills are required here," Garnett countered, unconvinced by the personal nature of Vivian's plea.
"Can't it wait? Just a few days?" Vivian asked, though she already knew the futility of arguing with Garnett. The director was not one to yield once her mind was made up. Also, Vivan was very aware that she almost sounded like she was pouting.
Better that than cursing her out, Vivian thought.
"Unfortunately, no," Garnett said curtly. "Sterling will fill you in on the details.”
"Director, you can't expect me to drop everything," Vivian argued, pacing the length of her bedroom, her grip tightening around the phone. "I booked this trip after you told—"
"Vivian," Garnett interrupted. “Let's not forget the position you are in. This job, working with us, is what keeps you out of an orange jumpsuit. You owe us."
Vivian stopped in her tracks, feeling the weight of those words settle over her like a shroud. The room seemed to shrink, walls closing in, suffocating her dreams of a reunion with Olivia. She was working too hard to rebuild her life within the confines of the law, and she couldn't risk it all now—not for Geneva, not even for Olivia. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she had a boss and for the first time in her life, there was someone she had to answer to.
"Fine," she conceded, the fight draining from her voice. "I'll do it."
"Good." Garnett's tone softened marginally. "Once this case is closed, you take your trip to Geneva, no matter what. That's my promise to you."
"Thank you," Vivian said, though gratitude was far from what she felt.
"Check your email," Garnett instructed. "I've sent the case files. A woman was found dead this morning, something of an art collector. And it seems a painting was taken. But as I said, Sterling has the rest of the details. And there seem to be a lot of similarities between this one and a murder from a few days ago.”
“Got it.”
She hung up hastily, not realizing until the line was dead that she’d essentially hung up on her director. Apparently, getting used to working for someone was going to be harder than she’d originally thought.
Before setting her phone down, her fingers flew across the screen, bringing up the email from Garnett. Her eyes darted over the brief, absorbing every detail: the victim's name—Nina Caldwell—the time of death, the missing artwork.
She pulled on her leather jacket, the familiar weight of it grounding her. A glance at the clock told her Sterling would be arriving soon. Time was slipping away, and with each passing moment, the killer was getting further out of reach. And the fact that this bothered her so deeply told her just how much she was starting to like…well, not the job necessarily, but the idea of helping people, of stopping those who would do others harm.
As she started reading over the summaries of police interviews with the victim’s friends, her phone buzzed in her hands. This time, the caller ID read STERLING.
She answered it as a quick thought raced through her head. Sterling is still getting the full reports and details. Makes sense, but I wonder if this is something Garnett is doing on purpose just to remind me that I’m the rookie here.
"Fox," she answered.
"Morning, Fox." Sterling's voice was crisp and efficient. "I'm enroute to your place. I assume Garnett called you already?”
“Oh, she called alright.”
“Everything okay?”
Vivian sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, everything is fine.”
"See you in fifteen?" There was an edge to his tone. He clearly knew something was bothering her.
"Sounds perfect. I’ll be ready.”
She looked back at her suitcase and though her heart ached because the trip had been postponed, she had to be honest with herself: there was a small part of her that was relieved. Garnett had given her a way out, a way to delay finding out just how Olivia would respond when they finally met.