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It was a sunny Wednesday afternoon when Alya Césaire got robbed.
Or, well, he tried. She was headed back to her apartment, making her way to the metro station down the street when some guy grabbed her purse. Alya turned, making sure to keep the bag pinned securely between her elbow and her side, and punched him in the face.
He kept tugging at the bag, and Alya let him continue his efforts in vain as she examined him. He was wearing a nice business suit, which was quite curious - what did a rich man need to rob her for?
The guy seemed to get that she wasn’t giving up her purse, so he finally let go. They stared at each other for a beat before he turned and took off down the street.
Alya wasn’t going to let a good story get away like that. She gave chase.
The pedestrians parted for them, a few people shooting them nasty glares or curious looks. The guy scurried into the subway, and Alya followed. She managed to slip into a train right before the doors closed, almost launching herself into someone's lap.
“Sorry,” Alya said, and the old man gave her a smile, waving away her apology.
“It’s nothing,” he said, and Alya smiled back. Perhaps he was a tourist, based on his bright red hawaiian shirt, though his French seemed pretty good.
Focusing on the task at hand, Alya looked around the car for the well-dressed robber. There was a young couple … a guy dozing off with headphones on … a middle-aged woman texting on her phone … there! Through the compartment window, Alya locked eyes with the man as the train jolted to a stop.
He was quick to push his way onto the platform and make a run for the closest set of stairs. Bodying her way past fellow passengers, Alya ran after him, calling out apologies over her shoulder.
On the street, Alya looked around and spotted the man further down the sidewalk, holding a phone up to his ear while waving for a taxi. One picked him up, and as he slid into it, he glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw her marching towards him, and the taxi quickly took off. Not a moment later, another one pulled up to where Alya was standing.
“Hello,” the driver said as Alya opened the door and got in, “where to?”
“Follow that car,” Alya said, pointing to the other taxi.
“Okay,” the driver said as he merged into traffic, “just know it might get pricey depending on how far you’re going.”
“It’s fine,” Alya said, keeping her eyes on the taxi they were tailing. The driver shrugged and kept driving.
The taxi ahead of them eventually stopped in front of a large building in the heart of Paris’ business sector. Alya hopped out, handing the driver some bills through the window and telling him to keep the change.
The guy stared in horror as Alya emerged from the other taxi before bolting through the entrance to the building ahead of them. Alya followed him, and found herself in a plush, luxurious lobby. People dressed similarly to the guy she was chasing all stared at Alya as she looked around.
Bright chandeliers hung from the tall ceiling, and the floor was carpeted in a deep green. Everyone around her wore all-black suits, clearly made of expensive material. And while the person she was chasing was nowhere in sight, a group of security guards were quickly closing in.
Alya looked around, spotting some elevators on the other side of the lobby. The crowd parted for her as she started across the grand space, picking up her pace when she noticed the security following.
“Hey, you!” One of the security guards called out as Alya reached the elevators.
She chose to ignore him, furiously pressing the button until the doors opened and someone stepped out.
Alya moved past them with an “excuse me,” holding down the button to close the doors before pressing more buttons at random.
The elevator started moving upward, and Alya breathed a sigh of relief. She was in an unfamiliar place surrounded by strange people - the plot was thickening, and she was excited. As the doors opened on a random floor, Alya stepped out.
“No, Nino, you don’t understand,” a voice came from down the hall, “it’s hardly my fault she chased me halfway across Paris!”
“Chris, you had one job,” another voice said as two figures rounded the corner, “and nowhere in there did I ask you to rob a random civilian, this could put our entire op - ”
Alya stared at the guy she’d chased halfway across Paris - Chris, if she’d heard correctly. Chris stared back, horrified.
“You!” Alya whirled around to find the security guards standing there. Turning to face forward again, she found Chris and the guy he’d called Nino staring at her. In this situation, there was only one thing to do.
Alya ran, meaning to make her way past the two men so she could escape the merciless security, but she found herself stopping as a hand came to rest on her arm.
Nino was giving the guards a chilly look, shaking his head. Alya watched as the security hesitated before backing away.
“Why don’t you come with me, ma’am,” Nino said, turning to her, and it was at this moment that Alya realized that she might have gotten herself into a stickier situation than she intended.
“And who are you?” Alya asked as Nino began leading her down the hall, his hand moving from her arm to her back.
He cast her a suspicious look at her question, tilting his head slightly to look at her over the frames of his glasses before giving her no answer. Chris was trailing behind them, and when Alya turned to look at him, he frowned, pressing the ice pack closer to his cheek before grimacing.
“Sorry about that,” Alya told him, “I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t tried to rob me. Why did you, by the way?”
Chris opened his mouth to retort, but he was quickly hushed by a look from Nino - who, the longer Alya looked at them, appeared to be Chris’s older brother. “Shut up, Chris,” Nino said, and Alya nodded to herself - they were definitely siblings.
Turning to face forward again, Alya found that Nino had stopped at a door. He took his hand off her back for a moment to reach into his pocket and produce a key.
“Where are we right now?” Alya asked as he unlocked the door. “I mean, Paris, duh - but those people in the lobby didn’t seem like typical businesspeople. What kind of business do you run here, exactly?”
Nino chuckled at her question, opening the door and gesturing for her to enter. “Talkative, aren’t you? You’d be lucky to never find out.”
“Secretive, aren’t you?” Alya retorted as she stepped past him. The room appeared to be an office of some sort. Nino Lahiffe , read the nameplate on the desk. “Besides, this never wouldn’t have happened if Chris hadn’t tried to rob me, so it’s kind of his fault I’m here.”
Both men froze, turning sharply to look at her.
Nino recovered first, fully closing the door and crossing the room to where she stood. “Who are you, and how do you know about us?”
“What?” Alya looked from one brother to the other, taken aback by the question. “What do you - I don’t know who you are, I just followed Chris here.”
“How do you know his name?” Nino demanded, exchanging a nervous look with Chris.
“Oh - you said it in the hall,” Alya said, gesturing towards the closed door, and the brothers immediately relaxed.
“Please, take a seat,” Nino said, gesturing to the chairs as he rounded the desk to sit across from them, sweeping some papers into a drawer. Alya caught a glimpse of what looked like floor plans before turning to Chris, who was observing her suspiciously.
“Right,” Nino said, and Alya turned to look at him. “About … this whole thing. I’m sure you have some questions.”
“Yes,” Alya said, leaning forward in her seat. She could sense her story just out of reach. “Who are you? What is this place? And why was he trying to rob me if you’re this well off?”
“Chris is facing a demotion within our company,” Nino said, “forgive him for being a bit desperate.”
“A demotion?!” Chris cried - apparently this was news to him.
“Yes,” Nino said, glaring at him, “a demotion.”
Chris slouched in his seat, crossing his arms and pouting.
“Again,” Nino said, turning back to Alya, “I apologize for him. I’d be happy to compensate you for any damage he might have done.”
“Oh, he didn’t actually manage to steal anything,” Alya said, thinking it might be best not to mention the fact that she did more damage to him than the other way around. Nino’s eye twitched. “And the taxi fare doesn’t matter because it counts as a business expense. Now, Mr. Lahiffe, if you’d be willing to answer a few questions for me?”
Nino tensed when she said his name, and Alya pointed at the nameplate. “Oh,” Nino said, and then, “Actually, I have a meeting coming up in a few minutes - Chris here can see you out, and not attempt to rob you again .”
“What meet-” Chris began, and Nino shot him a glare. “Fine,” Chris huffed, standing up.
“In that case, I’d love to set up a meeting with you to speak more about your company,” Alya said, staying seated. “Do you have a business card, or something?” Nino gave her an incredulous look. “Your company doesn’t seem to attract much attention, and seeing as your employee attempted to commit a crime in broad daylight earlier, you don’t seem to be doing that well, either. An article in one of Paris’ most-read papers ought to get some eyes on you, no?”
Nino and Alya stared at each other. Nino pressed his lips together. Alya adjusted her glasses.
Nino sighed, opening a drawer and taking out a small rectangular card. “Chris will be in contact.”
“Thanks,” Alya said, taking it from him and giving it a cursory glance - his name and number were there, along with what she assumed was the logo of his organization. “See you soon.”
“Yes,” Nino said, “I’m sure we will - unless you’d be willing to accept that this is a relatively new startup that’ll soon go under.”
“Not a chance,” Alya said, smiling as she headed for the door.
As the door closed, Nino reached for the intercom button. “Wayhem?”
“Yes, sir?” The familiar voice of the specialist responded.
“The lady Chris is leading down the hall - find out who she is.”
“Yes, sir.”
A few moments later, Nino’s phone chimed with a text from Wayhem. Alya Césaire, 25 years old, Head Reporter for Le Monde. Education includes École Supérieure de Journalisme. More information to come.
“A journalist, of course,” Nino sighed, “Chris just had to pick a journalist. ” Still, there was a strange lack of fire behind his words. While he’d never admit it to anyone who asked, Nino Lahiffe was looking forward to seeing Alya Césaire again.
Shaking his head, Nino pulled out some papers from his desk. He had an operation to plan.