Memory Thief

Chapter 5

The fog had scarcely lifted by the time Jeanette Carter awoke the following morning. It lingered outside her window, dense and almost tangible, as if the very atmosphere was conspiring to keep the city's secrets hidden. The streets of London, normally bustling even at the earliest hours, were unnervingly quiet, their usual noise absorbed by the thick mist.

Jeanette sat at her cluttered table, staring down at the pages of the file from Rebecca Langley. The name "Lincoln Hayes" leaped out at her from every report, but it was like trying to hold onto water—each piece of information slipped through her fingers, revealing nothing more than scattered glimpses of a man who was seemingly everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Yet now, thanks to Oliver Sinclair, she had a lead. The ledger he'd mentioned might hold the answers she desperately sought, but the path to it was steeped in danger. Jeanette had encountered private collectors before—people with a penchant for acquiring items of great value, both material and informational. They were a tricky lot, shrouded in their own kind of secrecy.

She traced her fingers over the edges of the file as her mind raced. If this ledger was as important as Oliver claimed, then retrieving it would not be a simple task. Yet, Jeanette was nothing if not resourceful.

She took a deep breath and gathered her belongings, slipping her notebook, a pen, and a few other essentials into her satchel. As she adjusted her hat and coat, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were tired but focused. There was no room for doubt. The game was afoot, and she was all in.

The collector's address led Jeanette to an upscale part of the city she seldom visited. Large townhouses lined the streets, their windows draped with velvet curtains, shielding the lives within from prying eyes. Jeanette arrived at the specified location—a grand building with ivy creeping up its stone facade. It was the kind of place that exuded wealth and exclusivity, a stark contrast to the grimy alleys she usually found herself in while working.

She approached the front door and knocked. The sound echoed through the silent street, an odd juxtaposition to the chaotic thoughts in her head. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing a butler with sharp, hawk-like features. His eyes swept over her, his expression cold and impassive.

"Miss Carter, I presume?" he asked, his voice clipped.

"That's right," Jeanette replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "I'm here to see Mr. Lovell."

The butler stepped aside, allowing her entry. The interior of the house was as opulent as Jeanette had expected—marble floors, grand chandeliers, and portraits of long-dead aristocrats hanging on the walls. She was led down a long corridor to a study, where Mr. Lovell awaited her.

As she entered the room, her eyes immediately went to the man seated behind an intricately carved desk. Maximilian Lovell was an imposing figure—tall and broad-shouldered, with gray hair slicked back and eyes that sparkled with a calculating intelligence. He looked like the kind of man who thrived on control, someone who enjoyed having power over others.

"Ah, Miss Carter," Lovell greeted her, his voice deep and smooth, "I've been expecting you."

Jeanette sat in the chair opposite him, keeping her posture straight and her expression neutral. "I understand you're in possession of a certain ledger," she said, cutting straight to the point.

Lovell smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You don't waste time, do you? Yes, I do have the ledger you're looking for. But let's not pretend this is a simple exchange. I've heard about you, Miss Carter. You're resourceful, clever. But that alone won't get you what you want."