After January came to a close, I assumed February would be straightforward. Instead, I realized my existing website workflow had become inefficient. I stepped into the underlying code to streamline the entire process, and before long, a fair portion of my writing time had disappeared. My hope is that the tradeoff proves worthwhile in the long run, though only time will determine whether that assumption holds. Despite the compression of time, I pulled the first genre from the poll results and sat down to consider the shape of a suspense tale. When no immediate concept surfaced, I returned to the core of the genre itself. Suspense is built on uncertainty and rising tension, where outcomes are withheld and the audience is compelled to keep reading to discover what will happen and what it will cost.
With that foundation in place, a quieter interpretation emerged. Not every betrayal announces itself with raised voices or slammed doors. Sometimes it arrives in smaller forms, such as an unfamiliar scent, a meeting that extends beyond its usual hour, or a pattern that shifts just enough to feel wrong. Once doubt takes root, it needs very little to grow. Silence and time are often enough for that seed to grow.
In this installment from Insight Investigations, Kyle Rickman is asked to do what he does best. He studies routine. He examines deviation. He filters assumption from evidence. There are no alley chases and no dramatic confrontations. There is only a desk, a file, and a series of details that refuse to align the way a client expects them to.
This is a story about suspicion, about withheld information, and about the cost of misreading a pattern. If you enjoy psychological tension and revelations that unfold one deliberate detail at a time, the rest of this case is waiting. Become a patron and step inside the office to see what the evidence reveals.
Excerpt of Secrecy’s Cost
The invoice sat on Kyle’s desk, aligned with its edge. His eyes scanned its precise and emotionless numbers. He folded his hands and laid them on his lap as his gaze rose to the woman across from him.
After a moment, he shifted his attention to the window beyond her shoulder. Outside the frosted pane of glass, the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the translucent material. He took a deep breath as he read the three words under his agency’s name. Discretion. Diligence. Documentation. Their gold lettering caught the ambient light, throwing a faint glow upon the worn hardwood floor.
When his attention returned to the woman across from him, her fingers tightened around her purse. “I told you, my husband would never—”
Kyle leaned forward, lifting a slender finger. “Mrs. Colbert, my business doesn’t focus on an absolute never. Instead, the world’s patterns teach me everything I need to know.”
Her jaw stiffened as she pulled her bag into her chest.
“Three weeks ago, you hired my firm to confirm your suspicions.” He lifted the invoice and slid it across the desk. He tapped the paper. “You provided me with ample documentation that suggested he was having an affair. Besides the paperwork, you compiled evidence of late nights, deleted messages, and even itemized the number of occasions you noticed an unfamiliar scent on his clothes.”
“With all that proof, why haven’t you discovered the truth?”
Kyle raised his hands in a shrug. “I tracked Mr. Colbert from his office to a small cafe, about two blocks from the river.”
“What about the women?!”
Kyle’s head swept back and forth as he retrieved a folder from his desk. “Your husband never visited a secret apartment. Despite my constant surveillance, I never found him having a shadowed embrace. Instead, he met the same woman, never varying the booth, time, or day.”
“Who has he been having an affair with?!”
With a sigh, Kyle removed something from the folder and slid it across the desk. Mrs. Colbert glanced down at the photograph. Her eyebrows shot up as she snatched it. “That’s… my sister.”
He didn’t confirm her assumption. Instead, he closed the file, letting her sit with the implication. The silence lingered. Her breathing turned shallow as calculation overtook outrage. Whatever she imagined now was heavier than betrayal, and Kyle allowed the tension to settle before speaking. After several tense moments, he leaned back, dropping his hands into his lap. He held her gaze until she met his. “They’ve gotten together every Thursday for forty-five minutes, starting at four, to the second. Since you hired me, they never deviated from that pattern.”
Her face paled as she stabbed the photo with her fingernails. “I don’t understand.”
“Your sister has a part-time job as a real estate agent.” He set more documents on the desk between them. “Tell me what you think that means.”
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