The rain tapped lightly against the tall London windows. The chandelier glow dimmed across the treasure hunters' private residence, reflecting in Basil Jefferson's weary eyes as he sat alone on the leather couch. A half-finished glass of whisky rested in his hand. He was watching the news on his phone, footage of Star Harbor beaming across the screen. The president's convoy, the cheering crowds, the skyline gleaming in afternoon sun.
Then his screen flickered.
A call.
Norway.
Basil's heart clenched.
He answered immediately.
"Thea?"
The voice on the other end was sharp, icy, efficient.
"Sir, you will not believe this. Your son is in Star Harbor."
Basil shot to his feet so fast the whisky nearly spilled.
"What? What the hell is he doing there?"
"He was doing something extremely foolish," Thea replied. "And was caught by the secret service."
Basil's breath stopped.
"The secret service? My god. What did he do? Is he in custody?"
