The Return Of the Invincible Heiress
Chapter 181

Chapter 181: Chapter 181

When they couldn’t contact their employee for four days, Juliet knew something was wrong and quickly told Anabel. Anabel, however, was not worried at all. "I have a friend in Swereo. I’ll call her now and ask for her help."

Soon, Anabel’s friend in Swereo requested the missing person’s photo, phone number, itinerary, destination, passport information, and so on. "He’s been missing for so many days," the friend said. "It’s probably serious. I’ll get a private detective to check it out first."

However, the private investigator went missing too. When Anabel received the news, her expression became grave. "Call the police. Tell them to locate the two people." Yet, the police found nothing.

The friend in Swereo updated Anabel: "The police discovered that Wilson Nash checked into a hotel after getting off the plane. The next morning, he went to the girls’ boarding school in the suburbs to ask for Joy’s information. The high school is closed to the public—outsiders, especially men, can’t enter. The students’ information can’t be given to anyone either. Wilson tried everything but couldn’t get in or learn anything about Joy, so he returned to the hotel."

"At eight o’clock that evening, Wilson left the hotel and took a taxi downtown. He walked into a street not monitored by surveillance cameras and never came out. The private investigator also traced where Wilson went missing. He went alone to investigate and never returned—the only difference was that he went during the day."

At this point, Anabel’s friend’s tone grew slightly nervous. "The security here is quite good. There are very few cases of locals or foreigners disappearing mysteriously. Moreover, the police can’t find anything. I think someone is cleaning up loose ends and stopping anyone from investigating Joy. I don’t dare look into this anymore. I’m afraid I’ll disappear too."

Anabel didn’t press her friend. "This matter ends here. I owe you one." After ending the call, she crossed her arms and paced the room with a serious expression, deep in thought. Juliet stood silently, waiting for Anabel’s decision.

A few minutes later, Anabel instructed, "Don’t investigate Joy directly. Find a few women with high EQ in Aeloria and have them contact Joy’s mother, Nellie Lambert. Find out everything about Nellie and her husband."

The emergency contact on Joy’s profile was her mother, Nellie, who lived in Aeloria. If they uncovered details about Nellie and her husband, they could piece together Joy’s background.

Juliet nodded. "I’ll get on it immediately."

She contacted two socialites thriving in Aeloria and asked for their help—without mentioning the dangers or the disappearances of Wilson and the investigator. The two women agreed casually. They reached out to Nellie, using their shared nationality as an excuse to invite her for a meal.

Over lunch, they discussed children and Osceiton’s education system, but Nellie revealed little. She only said her parents had passed away, her husband was a frequently traveling businessman, and her daughter—studying in Osceiton—was obedient and never gave her reason to worry.

The socialites planned further meetings to dig deeper. But days later, disaster struck: one was arrested for drug trafficking, and the other for speeding, child abuse, and tax evasion. Facing lengthy investigations and possible imprisonment, they were no longer of use.

Juliet realized Joy’s background was far from simple and reported everything to Anabel, who was stunned. After a long silence, she said, "Joy’s profile seems ordinary, but her background is... terrifying. She must be incredibly powerful to make people vanish or land in jail so easily."

Juliet asked, "Do we continue investigating?"

Anabel shook her head. "Let’s stop for now. I need to think." The Powell family had influence, but it had limits abroad.

Anabel lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as she pondered. Heirs of wealthy families had to marry equals. If Joy were ordinary, Anabel wouldn’t care—but now, she seemed a formidable opponent. Anabel needed to uncover Joy’s weaknesses, but open investigation was impossible. She couldn’t risk alerting Joy or sending too many people.

She needed someone discreet. But who?

Frustrated, Anabel turned on the TV. The news reported: ’"Cherry Literature Network has signed a publishing deal with Lockwood Holmes. His revised work will soon be available, and film adaptations are under discussion..."’

Anabel’s heart raced. ’Lockwood Holmes—the perfect investigator.’ She was a fan of ’The Case Chronicles of Detective Lockwood Holmes’ and agreed with theories that the stories were based on real cases, possibly even the author’s own experiences.

Knowing the author likely cared more for intrigue than money, Anabel saw her chance. She grabbed her phone and ordered someone to contact Cherry Literature Network’s editor-in-chief.

That night, Avery received a message:

’’[There’s a case.]’’

The editor briefly described Wilson and the detective’s disappearances—omitting names and locations—then asked:

’’Are you interested in investigating? Name your price.’’

Avery replied without hesitation: ’’[I’m not taking it on. I’m too busy.]’’

She had just finished editing ’The Case Chronicles of Detective Lockwood Holmes’ and submitted it the day before. Exhausted, she only wanted rest. For years, she’d refused contracts with the website, unwilling to reveal her identity—partly because she wasn’t yet 18, requiring a guardian’s signature. At the time, the Murphy family was her legal guardian, and she had no intention of involving them. Now, at 15, she could sign independently.

When the editor-in-chief renewed the offer, Avery agreed to consider it. Stunned, he bombarded her with messages: ’’"Really?"’’ and ’’"If you don’t keep your word, I’ll jump off a building!"’’ Only after Avery added him on iMessage did he believe her. Her age and talent left him speechless; he responded with a flood of "amazed" emojis.

The website offered generous terms: handling copyrights, prioritizing her input, industry-low commissions, and aggressive promotion. Their sole condition was exclusivity—’The Case Chronicles’ and its sequels would serialize only on their platform, with first rights to her future works.

Impressed by their sincerity, Avery agreed, stipulating one condition: her identity remained confidential. Only the contract-signing employee could know; disclosure required her permission. Science was her priority; writing was secondary. If exposed, fans, publishers, and filmmakers would swarm her, disrupting her research.

The editor-in-chief, thrilled to secure her, acquiesced. When Avery rejected the missing persons case, he relayed: ’’[Okay. I’ll pass it on.]’’

Anabel received the refusal with regret but didn’t press. She left the offer open: if "Lockwood" reconsidered, her invitation stood. Now, she was at a loss. After such losses, surrender felt unacceptable.

Juliet proposed: ’’"What if we discreetly inform Mr. Moran about Joy’s suspicious background? Even if he knows her, he might not grasp her danger."’’

Anabel’s smile was sharp. ’’"Brilliant."’’

The next day, Alexander received an anonymous letter detailing the failed investigations—missing agents, police dead ends, and a warning: ’"Be careful."’

Amused, he handed it to Louis. ’’"Burn it. And stay away from Joy."’’

Louis paled. ’’"Yes, sir."’’

Alexander had no interest in others’ secrets—unless they threatened him.

Unaware of the danger she’d dodged, Avery rested before returning for midterms. Her infrequent attendance had bred resentment; classmates muttered about "special treatment."

Then results landed.

’’"Full marks? Impossible! She barely attended!"’’

’’"I checked her papers—no flaws."’’

’’"Her brain’s on another level."’’

The grumbling ceased. Avery, unfazed, collected her perfect scores and headed to the library.

As she walked the tree-lined path, a figure materialized ahead—tall, straight-backed, clad in military uniform. Sunlight haloed him like honeybees to blossoms, defiance against encroaching shadows.

He moved with the steadiness of a mountain, the unyielding presence of an ocean pillar. Avery froze.

The man halted before her, snapping a salute. His voice was steel wrapped in velvet. ’’"Hello, Avery. I’m your third brother, Zayn Carter. It’s a pleasure to meet you."’’

She mirrored his salute. ’’"Hello, Zayn. The honor is mine."’’

No platitude. Zayn, a decorated special forces operative, had no recent photos at home—only childhood snapshots. His medals glinted: ’First, Second, and Third Class Hero’s Honors.’

Zayn lowered his hand, smile dawn-soft. ’’"Though late—welcome home."’’

Beneath his calm, joy shimmered. Avery, moved, opened her arms. ’’"Zayn, welcome home too."’’

He stiffened—then hugged her, voice rough. ’’"Thanks."’’

Nearby students gawked, snapping photos.

’’"Who’s that with Avery?"’’

’’"Another guy? She collects them."’’

Zayn released her and faced them. ’’"I’m her brother, Zayn Carter. Recently retired."’’

The crowd backtracked: ’’"Sorry! We misunderstood!"’’

A girl sighed. ’’"Why don’t ’I’ have brothers like this?"’’

A boy gaped at his medals. "Hero’s Honors! ’All three classes?!’