The first time tech magnate Julian Vance understood that his wife had been fading away for years, she was already a ghost.

It took Marcus Thorne forty-eight hours, not twelve, to find her. Clara had been smart. She had traded her smartphone for a burner, abandoned her credit cards, and paid for the cabin lease in cash. But nobody could hide entirely from the kind of money Julian Vance possessed.

Marcus slid a manila folder across Julian's pristine desk.

"Cannon Beach, Oregon," Marcus said. "She's renting a one-bedroom cabin near the water. Drives a beat-up 1998 Subaru. Works three days a week at a local independent art gallery."

Julian stared at the grainy photographs spilled across his desk. There was Clara, wearing the oversized gray hoodie he had given her in their twenties, carrying groceries in the rain. She had no security detail. No driver. She looked tired, her hair pulled into a messy bun, but as Julian stared closer at the photo, a sharp pain hit his chest.

She was smiling.

It was a small, quiet smile directed at a stray dog on the sidewalk, but it was real. He hadn't seen that specific smile on her face in four years.

"She's alone?" Julian asked, his voice tight.

"Yes. No romantic involvement, if that's what you're asking," Marcus said. "Julian... she went through a lot of trouble to disappear. Going up there might not be the best move."

"She is my wife," Julian said coldly, scooping up the photographs. "Have the jet ready in an hour."