Page 48 of Julian's Curse

“Have you tried asking her brokerage, to see if they can contact them? Also, do you know what house she went to?”

“Yeah, they have no idea.” It sounded like he was in immense pain. “Lucie, I think something bad had to happen to her. We obtained her Sentrilock record but it looks like she never made it to any property to show.”

“Her car is gone too?”

“She took the Bentley, and it’s not back either. We’re already talking to the police but they aren’t taking it as seriously as they should.”

“Did you two have a fight?” Part of me wondered if Sophie just needed some time for herself, and all this was unfortunate, but at least not tragic. There was always the possibility that she had a side to her that I didn’t know yet. We all needed space at times.

“No, she was supposed to come home for dinner,” he retorted. “Lucie, I just know something is wrong. Please help me.” Mark’s voice cracked. This was the man who had sold $150 million worth of real estate, calm and composed in every situation. To hear him break down like this was a shock.

A shiver ran down my spine as Sophie’s dad was now calling me on the other line. “Oliver, I’ll call Oliver. He’s going to get on this right away, Mark, and we’ll find her,” I assured him despite the rising fear for Sophie’s whereabouts. Julian’s staff had the resources to do way more than the police could.

Did this all have something to do with me? Was it possible that Sophie’s relationship with me had somehow put her in danger? I let her dad’s call go to voicemail, as first I needed to alert Oliver who would begin the search.

Sophie, if you are reading this, everyone is looking for you. We are so worried, please let me know you are okay, I messaged, simultaneously dialing Oliver’s number. Julian’s top-notch security guard picked up almost instantly. “Lucie, great to hear from you,” he opened the conversation.

“Oliver, I am sorry to bother you so early, but my best friend Sophie is missing. Her whole family, including her boyfriend, are looking for her, with the police thinking that she just needs space. Can you help? We believe she may be in harm’s way.” Ididn’t think it was possible to speak at a faster speed how quickly I summarized it all.

It didn’t take Oliver long to catch up. “Can you and her entire family meet me in 30 minutes? I’ll come to their house in Coronado.”

“Yes, I’ll let everyone know” I replied quickly, already on my feet. After killing the call, I called back Mr. Dickens and asked him to get everyone ready for the meeting.

“I tried to get a hold of Julian, but he’s been unavailable for weeks,” Mr. Dickens explained. “I assume you know why this is, Lucie. It’s made some of his business partners insecure.”

To that I didn’t have much to say. “Yes, we’re sorting some private matters. But I am ready to help in his place,” I assured him. “We still have all this security staff available.”

But I couldn’t ignore how abandoned he sounded, as if not only had he lost his daughter, but his close friend had disappeared too, making everything worse. I’d been planning to call Julian soon anyway, and maybe now it was time to ask him to come back to San Diego

I rushed to make myself a coffee, then scrambled to find an outfit to wear. Work—today, it just wasn’t going to happen. I’d have to explain to Amanda, who I was sure, would also want to be part of the people looking for Sophie. The girl had left a mark on so many of our hearts, and when something was wrong, we all felt it deeply. Sophie wasn’t just someone we worked with; she was family in our own way. And now, with her missing, none of us could ignore the pull to find her, in whatever situation she was in. Was it possible that she’d fainted somewhere? Could her heart have decided to give up? I trembled at the thought of losing her, and refused to admit that this was the ending that fate had in store for her.

The meetingwith Oliver took about an hour. With diligence, he collected everyone’s account of the events, asking questions while Sophie’s mom sobbed uncontrollably in the background. Her dad, pale and visibly shaken, sat stiffly by her side, his hands clenched in his lap. The two family dogs, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, played around in the living room, their happy barks feeling out of place in an atmosphere of despair. And I was sicker than ever, to the point when I had to go to the bathroom and wash the back of my neck with cold water several times.

I’d meant to call the rehab but now my personal problems seemed small in comparison to Sophie’s disappearance. I briefly called Amanda, and she listened carefully before acknowledging what I’d said. “I’ll speak with Oliver later,” she promised, her voice resolute. “I’ll also ask around the office to see if anyone knows anything.” Her reassurance was of some comfort, but I could tell she was just as worried. Then she also reminded me that I was supposed to have a day off anyway.

Right, I suddenly remembered. The articles about me and James had probably started circulating on the internet. The fact that I hadn’t received a message from Sophie about them was just another harsh reminder of how serious her disappearance was. I postponed reading them, knowing well they’d only infuriate me, but soon enough, it became clear that Oliver had already found out about them.

While he remained focused on the task at hand, his occasional curious glances toward me didn’t go unnoticed. I could feel the weight of his unspoken questions, but I didn’t have the courage to address any of his glances. Instead, I resolved towage a war on the tabloids by utterly ignoring them. I couldn’t afford to let that distraction derail everything else—Sophie’s situation became my only priority.

Will and I spent the rest of the day visiting all the places that Sophie frequented. I stopped by her favorite restaurants, spoke with a few of her closest friends, and even went to her Keller Williams brokerage in Del Mar, hoping someone there might have more information. But it was as if she’d vanished. We’d come home drained, fearful, yet perhaps still hopeful that a resolution would come soon.

Then the news came. Oliver had successfully tracked Sophie’s phone. It was found in a dumpster near a highway, its entire contents smashed beyond recognition.

There wasn’t anything fundamentally wrong with my home. On the surface, everything seemed fine. I always had food on the table, and my dad worked hard to provide for me, making sure I had the essentials—clothes, a roof over my head, and the things I needed to get by. He did his best to make sure I was taken care of, and of that, I was appreciative. But there was always a quiet sense of something missing. While the house was filled with the necessities of life, it lacked the warmth and connection that make a home feel truly alive. The kind of love and understanding that you can’t quite put into words, but you feel in every corner of your heart, was something we struggled to find.

So, per usual, returning home often pushed me to the brink of despair. It was winter break from college, a time when everyone else seemed to be wrapped in the warmth of holidaycheer, yet our house felt as cold and unwelcoming as the weather outside itself. My stepmother had a way of chipping away at me, no matter how hard I tried to keep my composure. It didn’t matter what kind of attitude I brought with me—she knew of ways to break me down anyway.

“Writing doesn’t make money,” my father shouted when I told him I wanted to pursue an English major. “Pick something practical—law, accounting, or med school. Please. I’m not paying for anything else.” His words stung, not just because of the dismissal of my passion, but because they felt like a door slamming shut on my identity.

I understood that, deep down, a part of him genuinely cared about my future and wanted me to be secure in life. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t change who I was at my core. Language had always been my passion. From the moment I could form sentences, I found solace and meaning in words. I kept journals as a child, scribbling down my frustrations, my aspirations, and the world I was trying to make sense of. When Mom passed away, poetry became my refuge—a way to capture the raw, complicated emotions I couldn’t express any other way, all distilled into a few lines. If I felt such a strong pull to writing, it had to be right for me.

And even if I could agree with Dad, I couldn’t picture spending my life in court, following laws that always seemed too limited, too flawed to truly serve justice. I also had no desire to spend my days adding up numbers in some office, watching the hours slip by. And being a doctor? That was never even a consideration. I could barely handle the sight of blood—my own blood during a simple draw was enough to make me dizzy, let alone someone else’s.

“When you end up as a teacher making less than 30k, don’t call me to borrow money,” he said bitterly. “You’re just like your mother—so naïve. You need to become realistic.”

“Yes, your mother was a bitch that exploited your father for money,” my stepmom chimed.

I wanted to punch her in the face so badly, except I wasn’t violent enough to do so. My first instinct was to run to Gram’s house, but I didn’t want to burden her with my pain again. With only a few days left in Christmas break before returning to my dorm, I stayed put, relieved that Federal Loans would cover my school expenses. But I wasn’t totally oblivious to my father’s point. I knew studying literature wasn’t the quickest route to a high-paying job, and paying off those loans could be tough per his prediction. The thought of it made me loathe myself.

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