Fei Hargreeves Novels & Stories

"Diane Morrison." "She settled." "She settled the financial case. She did not settle the personal grievance." He looked at the screenshot again. "The Hargreave case cost her sixty-eight million dollars. She is not someone who forgets." "You think she is back." "I think the Priya Nair profile laid out the full timeline of the Hargreave connection more clearly than anything that had ever been published before. If Diane read that piece and understood for the first time exactly how the case was built and how the asset tracing worked, she now knows more than she did when we were in litigation."

She spat out while threatening to reach for the police line. “Let me guess, she lied to you? Your mother's full name is Queen Yvonne Harvey! She was suppose to be the next Queen of the Harland, before she ran off!” “So why exactly did you call me?” “I have been on a research and I found something really amazing that you'd want to know. From my statistics, you seem well acquainted with the young master of the Gray, Calven Gray, right?” Bruce smiled brightly, and scrolled through Paige's file on his table.

Willow asked. “There is. I'm Special Agent Josephine Harold, as in the FBI. My now ex-husband is also FBI. Jericho isn't exactly law-abiding if you get my drift. It turns out my dear sweet mate is a person of interest in a case I was working on.” Jo smiled slightly. “Don’t worry, no one in the pack is in danger because of him. It is a very long story about bad men who did bad things to good people.”

I said softly to make him relax. "Ok fine. But make sure of it, Namih. I will check on you." "I promise," I give him assurance. I said goodbye to him because I might be late for work. *** I'm Detective Mary Grace Santillan, belongs to the Identification Bureau Detective. Actually Kitt Santos and I, the two of us who have been assigned here. Namih and I are childhood friends. But she and Kitt used to be friends before, until they met me and the three of us became friends.

The leather of Kang Jin Chen’s safe felt cold under Himy’s fingers, its surface etched with intricate patterns that had once seemed like mere decoration but now felt like a map to secrets she’d spent decades trying to uncover. She’d gained access to his penthouse office while he was being monitored at the hospital—a window of opportunity she’d seized after weeks of planning, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. For years, she’d known that Kang held pieces of the puzzle that had haunted her family: the truth about Victor Voss’s crimes, the mystery of Taylor Reeds’ husband, and the tangled web of bloodlines that had torn Liam and Kayla apart. Now, standing in the dimly lit

“Yes.” “And she landed a high-level internship at New York Times straight out of school.” Miles nodded. “Which doesn’t happen..Not without connections.” “Who were they?” “That’s the thing,” he said. “We can’t find any trace of contact with anyone suspicious.” I looked back down at the page. Mandy Moore. Twenty-six. Sharp eyes in every photo. The kind of face that noticed exits before décor. “What else?” I asked. “She specialized in… patterns,” Miles said carefully. “Corporate scandals…..Missing persons…..Unsolved fires and mysterious murders”

Dark hair pulled back tight. Diamond earrings catching the light. Her face was calm, unreadable… and ice-cold. Rachel gasped beside me. Dr. Patel nearly dropped his pen. Hargrove whispered, “Holy shit…” I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Because the woman standing at the head of Harrow Capital, the ghost that had been bleeding me dry, wasn’t some old man or faceless investor. She was a woman. a beautiful woman at that. And something about her felt terrifyingly strange.

Raihannah answered. Abbah had informed the police of our new findings and they were on their way here. " Faryah the detective is here" Ummah called as she and Abbah walked hand in hand into the living room. " Good evening sir" I greeted as I got up from where I sat and dropped my laptop.

ZLLIOT “You look like you’re attending a funeral, Zli. Loosen the tie before you cut off the oxygen to your brain.” I catch Phoebe’s reflection in the hallway mirror of our Brooklyn brownstone. She’s leaning against the doorframe, a mug of coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other, her afro puffs framed by the soft morning light. In her oversized Harvard med sweatshirt and glasses, she looks like any other postgraduate student—which is exactly why she’s the perfect deep-cover asset for the Camelot Financial Crimes Unit.

As always, his name was splashed across the headlines in bold letters. “FBI’s Golden Detective Cracks Another Case: Charles Gregory Stays One Step Ahead of Crime” I recall skimming through the article, already knowing what it will say: "Gregory’s instincts and exceptional dedication have once again led to a major breakthrough in a case that baffled authorities for months. Insiders at the Bureau describe him as a force to be reckoned with, a man who sees what others don’t. His latest victory is evidence of his unmatched brilliance.” I remember tossing the paper aside and leaning back, laughing. Unmatched brilliance? Sure.