The Daddy Track

The call came at 6:43 AM, exactly three minutes after the milk hit the Cheerios.

Detective Julian Thorne stared at his phone buzzing on the granite countertop, vibrating against a permission slip for a zoo field trip. He looked at the caller ID—*Lieutenant Miller*—and then at his six-year-old daughter, Lily, who was currently trying to perform surgery on a banana with a plastic spoon.

"Daddy, the phone," Lily said, not looking up.

"I know, bug," Julian sighed. He picked it up. "Thorne."

"We got a body at Van Der Hoven," Miller’s voice rasped, smelling of cigarettes even through the cellular connection. "High profile. The Senior Appraiser. Found in the main vault. It looks natural, maybe a ticker giving out, but the security logs are messy. The Captain wants eyes on it before the press gets wind."

"Miller, it’s Saturday," Julian said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I’m off rotation. And Mrs. Higgins cancelled. Her sciatica is flaring up."

"Everyone else is working the subway pileup in Queens," Miller said. "You’re the only gold shield available who knows how to talk to rich people without spitting. Just go look. If it’s a heart attack, you’re home by noon."

Julian hung up. He looked at Lily. She had managed to decapitate the banana. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and impossibly blue—the only part of his wife, Sarah, that hadn't faded with time.

"Do we have to go to work?" she asked. She knew the tone.

"Just for a little bit," Julian promised, forcing a smile he didn't feel. "You can bring the coloring book. The big one with the unicorns."

He felt the familiar twist in his gut, the internal wound that had been festering for two years. He was trying so hard to keep the stain of his world away from her. He wanted her life to be cartoons and zoo trips, not crime scenes and precincts. Bringing her to a homicide scene, even a sanitized one, felt like a failure.

"Okay," Lily said, sliding off her chair. "But you owe me ice cream. The blue kind."

"Deal."

Forty minutes later, Julian’s beat-up sedan pulled up to the curb of the Van Der Hoven Auction House. It was a fortress of limestone and velvet located on the Upper East Side, a place where history was sold to the highest bidder.

Julian parked in a loading zone, flashed his badge to the uniformed officer at the door, and ushered Lily inside.

The lobby was oppressive. Heavy burgundy drapes swallowed the morning light, and the air smelled of lemon oil and old money. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen tears from the ceiling.

"Don't touch anything, bug," Julian whispered.

"It smells like Grandma's attic," Lily whispered back, wrinkling her nose.

A woman in a sharp black suit approached them. She had dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, but her eyes were warm, intelligent, and currently filled with stress.

"Detective Thorne?" she asked. She looked down at Lily, surprised but recovering quickly. "And... Associate?"

" babysitter emergency," Julian said defensively. "Is there a place she can sit? Somewhere safe?"

"The breakroom," the woman said. "I’m Elena Vane. The Archivist. I found the body."

Elena led them through a maze of corridors lined with portraits of dead men who looked like they judged the poor for sport. The breakroom was surprisingly normal—vending machines, a flickering fluorescent light, a table with coffee stains.

"I'll be right back, Lily," Julian said, setting her up with her markers. "Stay here. If you need anything, ask the nice lady."

"I have fruit snacks," Elena offered, pulling a packet from her pocket. Lily accepted them solemnly.

Julian nodded his thanks to Elena. "Okay. Show me the body."