Chapter 4- The Package

The morning sunlight passed through the curtain linen drapes like a blade. Genevieve stirred under the duvet, tangled in both sweat and confusion. Her body ached with the weight of too much silence in the house.

Ravenhurst Lane had felt like a dream—or a nightmare. The way Celeste had spoken, the photos, the rules, the wall filled with photographs of widows, everything felt like a dream.

She sat up slowly, the silk bedsheets cool against her legs. For a moment, she sat in her dimly lit bedroom, listening. There were no footsteps or the usual sounds that came from downstairs when the workers were around. Just the ticking of the wall clock on the fireplace mantel.

She checked the time. It was 9:42 a.m. She had overslept.

Her head throbbed dully as she got up from the bed. The silk robe of her nightwear that laid at the foot of the bed was cold to touch, but the floor was even colder.

She heard her phone buzz from the dressing table.

She shuffled towards it, tension already knotting in her stomach. The screen flashed with an unfamiliar number.

“Mrs. Holloway?” came a crisp, male voice.

“Yes?” Her voice cracked.

“This is Edmund Gray, your late husband’s lawyer. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s fine.”

“I’m calling to inform you that the reading of Mr. Holloway’s will has been scheduled for two months from today, at the Holloway estate in Woodvale. Attendance is limited to family and those mentioned directly in the will.”

“I understand.”

“I’ll send a formal notice via email this evening. My condolences again, Mrs. Holloway.

She ended the call and lowered the phone, her heart hammering. Two months felt too late, but she was too tired to think or question the lawyer about why the reading of the will had to be held in two months. The weight of the previous night, of Celeste, the club, and the wall of photographs still pressed heavily against her chest.

A soft knock came at her door.

It creaked open, and her housekeeper, Margot, peeked in.

“Good morning, Mrs. Holloway. A package just arrived for you.” She stepped inside and placed a black box on the side table. “It was hand-delivered.”

“Thanks, Margot.”

As the door shut behind her, Genevieve approached the package. It bore no return address. Only her name, written in bold letters.

She took it to her desk and opened it with care.

There was a thick manila folder inside, and photographs underneath the folder.

She opened the folder first.

At the top was written a name in bold letters: DOMINIC ROURKE

She inhaled sharply as she turned to the next page.

Age: 36

Education: MIT graduate, double major in cybersecurity and applied mathematics.

Company: Founder and CEO of Rourke Technologies, a global leader in cybersecurity, AI encryption, and digital warfare solutions.

Assets: Multiple international properties, 80% shareholder at Rourke Technologies, major investor at Halcyon Hotel—a luxury resort chain with a flagship location in the capital.

Family: Daughter—Olandria Rourke, age 5.

Marital Status: Widowed.  His wife died 4 years ago. No public information or pictures of her are available.

Genevieve flipped to the next page. It contained a log of known business associations. Her stomach tightened.

There it was.

Charles Holloway—unconfirmed meetings dated April 8th, April 19th, April 31st and May 3rd.

Purpose: Unknown.

The last meeting was a week before Charles died.

She turned to the photographs. Her hands were trembling as she stared at them.

Four of them were from media interviews. Dominic Rourke was in a tailored black suit, his dark hair was swept back and his expression was unreadable. In one of the photographs, he wore sunglasses. In another, he stood at a podium at a cybersecurity summit, flanked by world leaders. He was always formal and distant.

She stopped at the fifth photograph, as she felt cold air cover her body.

The photograph was of Charles and Dominic in a what looked like a confrontation.

They stood outside a building Genevieve didn’t recognize. Charles’s face was tense, his mouth was open as if mid-sentence. Dominic’s expression was harder, blank and almost cruel, like he was listening to a man he didn’t plan to forgive.

The timestamp in the bottom corner of the photograph was May 3rd, 2025. Six days before Charles’s death.

She pressed a hand to her chest as she tried to catch her breath. Why didn’t Charles tell her about this man? Or about the business deal he had with him? Charles always told her about his business dealings, even if it was in passing.

Before she could gather her thoughts, her phone rang again.

It was an unknown number.

She hesitated. Then answered.

“Hello?”

A familiar voice slid through the line.

“Good morning, Mrs. Holloway.”

Genevieve froze. “Celeste.”

“I trust you have received the package?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s get straight to it,” Celeste said. “Dominic Rourke is your first mission.”

Genevieve said nothing. The silence stretched.

“You’re not just there to flirt with him,” Celeste continued. “You’re to infiltrate his world, earn his trust, and when he lets his guard down, find out what he knows.”

“About Charles?”

“About everything.”

Genevieve’s fingers curled around the edge of the desk.

“What am I looking for?” she asked.

“That’s the beauty of it,” Celeste replied. “We don’t know. But we do know this: Dominic Rourke holds the answers we are all desperate for. Whether he gave the order or merely watched it happen, he’s the link to your husband’s final days.”

Genevieve walked to the window, staring at the Holloway estate gardens. Her hands felt ice-cold.

Celeste’s voice dropped, soft but sharp. “He doesn’t let women close. Not since the death of his wife. You’re the fourth widow we’ve sent. The others didn’t make it past polite conversation.”

Genevieve turned from the window. “And what happened to them?”

Celeste didn’t answer immediately. “Let’s just say they weren’t the right fit.”

“And you think I am?”

“I know you are.”

“I don’t know anything about him,” Genevieve whispered.

“You know grief,” Celeste replied. “You know what it feels like to be surrounded by liars. That’s more than enough.”

Silence stretched for a few seconds, but it felt like hours.

“You’ll hear from your assistant soon. Be ready.”

Then the line went dead.

Genevieve stood in the center of the room, the phone still pressed against her ear.

A moment later, she spotted the last page in the package. A crisp sheet of paper that contained Dominic’s business profile. At the bottom was a red-stamped address.

She pulled it close.

Her pulse quickened.

The district listed was the same district where Charles’s car had been found. Where the brakes had failed.

She sat back slowly, feeling the world shift beneath her. Was it a coincidence?

Her hand drifted to the photograph of Dominic and Charles again.

Charles looked angry. Dominic looked like he was done.

She stared at the photograph, then the address, and finally her phone.

A buzz sounded from her phone.

It was a new message.

From an unknown number. The message said: Hello, Mrs. Holloway. Shall we begin?