Madly Yours (Nora Reed) novel Chapter 620

"Cillian Thorne?"

Nora frowned deeply. "You're saying the Ivory Pill is in his hands now?"

Arthur nodded. "The Boss suspects he's Arthur Lancaster's second son. We're currently tracking him down. But the guy is a ghost. When he made the deal with Cade Whitman, he was likely wearing a disguise, and the car had fake plates."

Nora bit her lower lip, not expecting it to be this complicated.

Trying to track down a man based solely on the vague moniker of 'Cillian Thorne' was like finding a needle in a haystack.

"You mentioned a surveillance video earlier, right? Does it have audio? Can I hear it?"

Arthur paused, then nodded. "We salvaged a clip from the club where he met Cade. The audio isn't great, but you can make out the gist of it."

"Send it to me."

Without questioning her further, Arthur tapped his screen and sent the file directly to Nora's phone.

She hit play, cranking the volume to maximum, and pressed the speaker to her ear.

The clip was short. The background noise was chaotic, filled with the clinking of glasses and muffled club music, but the man's voice cut through just enough to be legible.

"...As long as you get your hands on the Ivory Pill, the car is yours."

Nora's brow furrowed. Something clicked in the back of her mind.

That voice...

She had heard it somewhere before.

She searched her memory, but it hovered just out of reach, like a shape obscured by thick fog. She could see the outline, but she couldn't grasp it.

"Madam?" Arthur called out tentatively when she remained silent.

Nora snapped back to reality. "Alright, I understand. Don't mention this conversation to Hudson."

Arthur hesitated slightly before nodding. "...Yes, Madam."

...

With the holidays approaching, Star Entertainment scheduled its annual corporate retreat at a luxury hot spring resort.

The resort belonged to Sebastian Caldwell. Built into the mountainside, it boasted incredible privacy. The hot spring water was drawn from natural subterranean veins, maintaining a perfect hundred degrees year-round. Among the elite, it was affectionately known as San Francisco's Little Aspen.

Nora hadn't really wanted to go, but Chloe Caldwell's relentless pleading wore her down. Since her music program had recently wrapped up and her schedule was clear, she eventually agreed.

On the day of the retreat, the company chartered two buses that drove out to the resort in grand style.

After winding through mountain roads for over an hour, the buses finally pulled up to a set of massive, intricately carved wooden gates.

The resort was larger than expected. Its white walls and sweeping grey roofs were nestled beautifully among a dense bamboo forest. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur and pine.

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