The Stolen Millions

Synopsis

"Sirena... why is there only a few hundred bucks left on our card?" Francis Rowe was gripping his phone, voice trembling a little. The cold white glow from the banking app lit up his stunned face. He stood frozen by the table, like a puppet stripped of its strings. In front of me was the chicken soup I'd gotten up at six to make—still steaming. I scooped up a spoonful, blew on it, and took a bite. Perfect. "My sister's in a tight spot. She needs that money!" His voice shot up when I didn't respond, raw with panic. "Check if the bank's system is messing up. Or maybe there's some big auto-pay you forgot about?" He was rambling. "Or are you thinking of the wrong card?" I put the spoon down. The metal handle tapped the glass table with a sharp ding. "Money?" I finally looked up at him, calm as ever. His brow was a tight knot, sweat beading at his temples—he looked a mess. "You took it all yourself. Ten days ago," I said.