Chapter 5 – Chasing the Smoke

(Hannah’s POV)

Nathaniel walked ahead, his long strides making it difficult for me to keep up. He didn’t look back, didn’t check if I was following—just assumed I would.

“Sir, where exactly are we going?” I asked, adjusting the strap of my bag.

“To do real journalism,” he said, not glancing back.

I sighed, why was he like this

Still, I pushed the thought aside and adjusted my bag, my notebook tucked under my arm as I followed him down the street towards his car. He unlocked it without ceremony and slid into the driver’s seat.

“Get in.”

I hesitated for a brief second before obeying, smoothing my skirt as I sat. “Sir, I was under the impression that uhm interns usually-".

"Interns don't get handed real stories, you want to prove yourself?, then sit down and take notes" he cut in.

Well, when he puts it like that.

I adjusted my seatbelt and sat back in silence, s he drove out of the parking lot, the traffic noise filling the void. I waited for him to say something before I finally spoke, "Are we headed to the club sir?"

Nathaniel tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. “Waste of time. It’s a crime scene now, which means the police won’t let us anywhere near it.”

“Then where—?”

“The club’s owner. Richard Carter.”

That made sense. I nodded, pulling out my notebook. “You think he knows something?”

Nathaniel let out a quiet exhale, barely a sigh, but there was something dismissive about it. “Hazel, everyone has something to hide.”

What?

"It's Hannah sir" I said, a little too stunned. He didn't even know my name. But I was just an intern , I didn't know what to feel.

"Oh-" he said taking a quick glance at my side, "My apologies".

The rest of the journey fell silent and uncomfortable

-------

Richard Carter was easy to track. He owned an entire chain of nightclubs and high-end bars, but his latest investment—a soon-to-be-opened luxury hotel—was where he spent most of his time.

Nathaniel pulled up outside an upscale café where Carter was known to have his morning meetings. I took in the expensive suits, designer bags, and perfectly brewed lattes through the glass windows.

I adjusted my blazer, nerves bubbling up. “Sir, any tips for handling a business mogul?”

Nathaniel didn’t look at me. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Wow. Thanks for the pep talk. I tried to ignore how effortlessly calm he looked meanwhile my nerves were skyrocketing fast.

We waited outside, and soon, a sleek black car pulled up. Richard Carter stepped out, dressed in a crisp navy suit. He barely spared us a glance before heading toward the café entrance.

Nathaniel was out of the car before I could even take a deep breath. I scrambled after him, my notebook at the ready.

Nathaniel moved first. “Mr. Carter, Nathaniel Rhodes-"

The man stopped but didn’t turn immediately. “No comment.”

Nathaniel sighed, like this entire thing was just a chore. “We haven’t asked anything yet.”

Carter finally turned, looking Nathaniel over like he was an inconvenience. “I know how this works. My club burned down, and now the press wants a story. Well, here’s one—I had nothing to do with it.”

He made a move to leave, but for the first time, I stepped forward. “Sir, there are reports that this fire might be connected to other cases. Do you know anything about that?”

Carter’s gaze landed on me. He didn’t look angry—just amused, like I was a child asking too many questions.

“Be careful where you dig, Miss…?”

“Hannah,” I said firmly, my pulse quickening.

“Miss Hannah.” He smirked. “Some fires should be left to burn out on their own.”

He turned and disappeared into the café.

I exhaled, flipping my notebook open to scribble down the exchange. “Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all.”

Nathaniel hummed in agreement.

I expected him to push harder, to throw out more theories or insist on more leads. But instead, he just… watched Carter walk away, then turned toward the car.

“Come on.”

I frowned, jogging after him. “Where to now?”

Nathaniel started the car. “Back to the office. Let’s write this up.”

I blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he confirmed.

I didn’t argue, but something about the way he shut the conversation down nagged at me.

Shouldn’t we be asking more questions? Shouldn’t we be digging deeper?

Why did it feel like he was just… checking off a task rather than chasing a lead?

I shook the thought away and opened my notebook. Maybe I was overthinking things.

Maybe this was just how he worked.