Erica Sinclair - The Vanishing Hour F/f

[Jenny_S]

When two teenage girls vanish without a trace, attorney Erica Sinclair follows a chilling trail, but what she discovers behind the locked door of a quiet Brooklyn home is more horrifying than she ever imagined. Erica must confront a twisted mind - and the fragile line between grief and madness - to bring the girls home.

[Jenny_S]

As Erica steps out of the elevator and into the sleek, modern lobby of Sinclair & Associates, the subtle hum of the city below is muffled by the thick glass windows framing the skyline. The air is crisp, cool - and overwhelmingly citrusy.

She exhales slowly, the sharp tang of the air freshener hitting her senses with more force than necessary.
Too strong.
Again.
She makes a mental note to have Holly inform the janitor to dial it down a notch - or maybe switch to something less aggressive.

Her gaze sweeps over the reception area. Something’s off.
Holly’s desk is immaculate, the glossy black surface untouched. No coffee cup. No handbag tucked discreetly under the counter. No sign of her usual start-of-day routine.

Erica’s eyes flick to her Rolex. Holly should have been here by now.

Before she can reach for her phone, a familiar voice draws her attention.
“Good morning, Miss Sinclair.”

Claire Messner, her ever-efficient assistant, steps out from one of the conference rooms, a tablet tucked against her side. There’s a slight furrow between her brows - not concern, exactly, but something close.
“Holly has called in sick for today.” Claire continues, stopping near the reception desk. “I spoke to Kathy, she can fill in.”
Kathy Weymouth. One of the paralegals. Reliable. Always willing to step in.

Erica nods, considering. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s hope that Holly won’t be away for long.”

Claire dips her chin in understanding, the shadow of tension easing from her expression.
“I’ll keep you informed.” Claire replies smoothly.

“Thank you, Claire. I’ll be in my office.”
With that, Erica moves toward her private office, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.
Her law firm isn’t overstaffed like others, so compensating for vacations and unforeseeable situations is always a bit of a juggle. Someone is going to get the short end of the stick.


~~~


Sitting behind her polished mahogany desk, Erica thumbs through a case file, calculating the billable hours she has poured into it.
The morning sun begins to filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the office in golden light. Below, the city stretches out - a vast, relentless machine, demanding more from those who dare to keep pace.

A familiar knock interrupts her thoughts. Even without looking up, she knows who it is.
“Come in, Claire.”

Her assistant steps inside, a neat stack of envelopes in hand, the contents already opened and sorted - except for one.

“Today’s mail, Erica.” Claire sets the letters on the desk, her movements as efficient as ever. Despite being invited to drop the formality in private, she still hesitates, as if "Miss Sinclair" is an unshakable habit.
Erica allows the barest flicker of amusement. Some habits die hard.

“Anything pressing?” she asks, already noting the lone unopened envelope at the top.

Claire gestures toward it. “I’d say that one.” Then, with her usual quiet precision, she turns and leaves, the door clicking shut with soft finality.

The envelope stands apart - heavy paper, embossed with the official seal of the City of New York.
Unopened.

Reaching for the silver letter opener in her drawer, Erica slices through the fine paper and withdraws a thick, formal card.

It is our pleasure to invite Miss Erica Sinclair, Esq., to the official ceremony of the appointment of Mrs. Sophie van Rey as Deputy Mayor for Public Safety.
Signed, Stephen Bourne, Mayor of the City of New York.

Erica exhales slowly, tilting the invitation between her fingers.

Sophie van Rey.

Until recently, Sophie had occupied a cluttered, paper-strewn office at One Hogan Place as a Senior Assistant District Attorney - a frequent adversary, sharp-edged and relentless. Their courtroom battles were fierce, sometimes personal. But at times, necessity had forced them onto the same side. Reluctant allies in the pursuit of justice.

It wasn’t long ago that Erica had helped her bring down Darren Cross, an American enabler and money launderer for a Mexican crime cartel - a case that had left its scars. If that had been her ticket onto the Mayor’s radar, it wasn’t surprising that Sophie had landed at his office, trading the courtroom for City Hall.

“Well,” Erica murmurs, tapping the card against her desk. “Who would have thought?”

Of course, she will attend the ceremony which is more than just a formality.

She is still considering the implications when another knock at her door cuts through her thoughts - firmer this time.
Before she can answer, Claire steps inside again.

But this time, something in her expression - a taut, uneasy alertness - makes Erica set the invitation aside.


~~~

[Caesar73]

Have to say: I see another Masterpiece in the making. Seems like Erica will have to dive in another Abyss!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, I hope I won't disappoint.

[Caesar73]

Dear @Caesar73, I hope I won't disappoint.

I am pretty sure you won´t

[LunaDog]

Dear @Caesar73, I hope I won't disappoint.

I am pretty sure you won´t

And you're not the only person with that level of faith, Caesar, I truly believe this too, I KNOW that you won't let us down, Jenny.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, dear @LunaDog, I'm so glad to have readers like you. Thank you so much for your vote of confidence.

[Jenny_S]

Claire appears in the doorway, her expression carefully neutral, but there’s something in her posture - a slight tension in her shoulders - that catches Erica’s attention.
“Sorry to intrude, Erica.” she says. “There’s a Mr. Christian Gordon asking for an appointment. He says it’s a matter of life and death.” She pauses briefly. “And he’s brought a box full of papers with him.”

Erica’s eyebrow lifts slightly as she studies her assistant. Claire usually has a good read on who truly needs to see the founder and managing partner of Sinclair & Associates. If she’s bringing this to Erica’s attention, it’s worth listening to.

“Life and death.” she muses. “That’s dramatic.” She leans back slightly, tapping her pen against the polished surface of her desk. “Let’s see what Mr. Gordon has to say. Show him in, please.”

Claire gives a small nod before stepping aside.

A moment later, Christian Gordon enters.
He’s of average height, maybe around Erica’s age, but something about him already seems off-balance. His posture is tense, his movements hurried as he carries a cardboard file box into the office. His suit is wrinkled at the elbows, his tie slightly askew - the look of a man weighed down by something heavier than just paperwork.
He bows slightly as he steps forward, clutching the box as if it holds everything he has left.

“Mr. Gordon.” Erica greets him with a measured, businesslike smile. She gestures toward the chair in front of her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Gordon sets the box on the floor beside him, lowering himself into the chair with a kind of restless energy - like he’s ready to spring forward at any moment.

“Would you like some coffee? Or a glass of water?”

He shakes his head so vigorously it’s almost abrupt. There’s no time for small courtesies, his expression seems to say.
That’s all Claire needs - without a word, she steps out and quietly closes the door behind her, leaving them alone.

Erica folds her hands together on the desk and leans slightly forward, keeping her voice calm and steady. “What can I do for you, Mr. Gordon?”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gathers himself.
“I was told to see you, Mrs. Sinclair.” His voice is tight, controlled - but underneath, there’s a rawness. “The police…they aren’t taking me seriously.”

Erica doesn’t react, though the statement doesn’t surprise her. She’s heard this before.
“Go on, please,” she encourages.

Gordon takes a breath, then plunges in.
“Two years ago…my daughter disappeared.” His voice cracks, but he pushes forward. “She just vanished after class. The cops worked the case, but Kristy…” he stops, his fingers clenching against his knees. “She was gone. Is gone… to this day.”

A missing child.
A familiar ache tugs at Erica’s chest, but she keeps her expression neutral. This man doesn’t need sympathy - he needs someone who will listen.


~~~


Gordon clears his throat roughly and continues, faster now.
“A few days ago, another girl went missing. Same age as my Kristy. Same school.” His face flushes red with urgency. “Same pattern. I went to the detectives, I told them, but they wouldn’t listen. Mrs. Sinclair, I know…” his voice wavers, his hands shaking, “I just know it’s the same people who took my daughter.”

His breathing hitches. He clamps a hand over his mouth, but the sob still escapes.
The room goes still except for the soft sounds of traffic filtering through the thick glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Erica watches as he struggles, fighting for composure. This is a man on the edge, clinging to the one fragile hope that his daughter might still be out there - alive.

Slowly, Gordon reaches down and lifts the box onto his lap.
He pulls out a thick file, overflowing with newspaper clippings, notes, xeroxed police reports, and photos. The chaotic jumble of a man who has spent two years piecing together his own investigation, searching for the answers no one could give him.

On top of the pile, a photo stares up at Erica: a teenage girl, maybe 14 years old, dark eyes, brown hair tucked behind her ears, a small red bow pinned to the collar of her white turtleneck sweater. A sweet smile. A face frozen in time.

Gordon sets the picture on the desk, turning it toward Erica with a reverence that nearly breaks her heart.
“This is my Kristy,” he whispers, biting back fresh tears. “She was 14 when she was taken. She would be 16 now.”
He swallows hard.
“This other girl… her name is Vera Atwood. She’s 14 too.”

Erica’s mind starts turning as Gordon lays on more information. Vera Atwood. The case has been assigned to Detectives Landham and Scalisi out of the 60th Precinct in Brooklyn - the same area Kristy disappeared from two years ago.

She exhales slowly, her fingers brushing over the edge of Kristy’s photo.
She already knows the odds of finding Kristy after all this time. And she knows exactly how the detectives will react when a lawyer - especially one like her - steps into their case.

Gordon doesn’t seem to notice her hesitation. He grips the box like a lifeline.
“I have everything,” he says, his voice urgent. “Everything I’ve found, everything the police won’t look at. Please… help me find my girl.”


~~~


Erica hesitates, the weight of his plea settling in her chest.
She could turn him away. She should. The chances are next to nonexistent.

Some time ago, she has dealt with the case of a missing teenager before – and unraveled a human trafficking ring. It was more than she had been prepared to deal with.

For a split second, Erica tells herself that she is a lawyer, not an investigator and debates if she should send this man on to John Dance, former CIA operative and now freelance security consultant, but something in Gordon’s plea holds her back. And then she knows – it’s the photo on her desk. Looking at Kristy’s face - young, innocent, stolen from her life - Erica knows she just has to try to help this man.

Gordon sees the flicker of resolve in her eyes and latches onto it.
“Money isn’t the issue,” he says quickly. “I have a decent job. I can get a loan on my house if I have to…”

Erica lifts a hand, cutting him off with a calm but firm gesture.
“Let’s not talk about money, Mr. Gordon.” Her voice softens. “I’ll go through your documentation. I’ll reach out to the police, but I can’t promise you results – only to give it my best.”

It’s all she can offer him at the moment. Honesty. Because a happy ending is all but certain.

For a second, Christian Gordon just stares at her.
Then - suddenly, desperately - he reaches across the desk and grabs her hand.
“Thank you,” he says, his grip tight, his voice rough with relief. “Thank you, Mrs.Sinclair.”

For the first time in two years, someone is finally listening, but if Erica might be able to find the missing girl remains to be seen.


~~~

[LunaDog]

Let's face it, on the face of it, the chances look very slim indeed.

[Caesar73]

Let's face it, on the face of it, the chances look very slim indeed.

Yes, I agree - it seems like a an Uphill Battle for Erica. But she is not stranger to this Game!