The Ford Journals 1.10

Edition 10: Le Coup Final (The Final Move)

Paris, 11:42 PM

The coordinates had led us here. Not to some grand, gilded hall or secret chamber beneath the Louvre, but an alleyway. A nondescript, dimly lit stretch of stone tucked between historic facades, the kind of place tourists passed without a second glance.

Bash pulled his scarf tighter, eyeing the alley with mild disdain. "So, just to clarify—our grand revelation is in a place where people probably relieve themselves after too much Bordeaux?"

I ignored him, scanning the surroundings. "This location isn’t random. There’s something here we’re missing."

Bash sighed dramatically. "Right, because in a city bursting with world-famous landmarks, the answer just had to be in a backstreet straight out of a bad noir film."

I crouched, running a hand over the cobblestones. "This wasn’t always an alley." I gestured to the aged brickwork along the side. "These stones are older than the surrounding buildings. Something stood here before."

Bash knelt beside me. "Let me guess, you’re about to say—"

"—a historical structure was here before it was covered up." I smirked. "And if we dig into Parisian records, we might just find out why."

Bash pulled out his phone and started typing. "Okay, let’s see what used to be at—oh. Ohhh. This alley was once the back entrance to—wait for it—an underground chamber used during the French Resistance."

I stood. "That explains why someone would want to keep it hidden. Let’s see if they did a good job."

We worked along the stones, feeling for inconsistencies. Finally, I hit a slight give in one. A shift, just enough to tell me I’d found something. I pressed harder, and with a dull click, a section of cobblestone shifted, revealing a hidden compartment.

Bash blinked. "You’re kidding."

Inside, wrapped in aged cloth, was a small leather-bound book. Not just any book—the same gold-embossed crest from the parchment in Malta gleamed under the streetlamp.

I unwrapped it, my pulse quickening. Bash flipped to the first page, scanning it just as a shadow flickered at the end of the alley.

Elise.

She hadn’t just shown up—she had followed us. Tracked me like she had been doing for weeks.

She stepped forward, her expression unreadable. "I told you before, Ford. I didn’t want you in this."

I closed the book. "And yet, you wrote the notes. The red ink pen."

"I had no choice."

Bash, always the observer, cut in. "You said before you didn’t know who was behind this. That was a lie, wasn’t it?"

Elise’s jaw tightened. "I know one thing: Alarcón is part of this, isn’t the real power here. He is only a piece on the board."

I exhaled sharply. "Then who’s pulling the strings?"

Before she could answer, footsteps echoed off the stone. Another presence. Alarcón.

He wasn’t here because he had planned it. He had followed us, just like Elise. The moment we stopped getting clues, it meant whoever was orchestrating this had reached their limit. The game had been passed to someone else.

Alarcón emerged, his sharp grin cutting through the dim light. "Ah, Ford. I told you we'd see each other again."

I clenched my fists. "What the hell do you want?"

"Want?" Alarcón chuckled. "I don’t want anything. I already have what I need. And thanks to you, I now know where to look for the rest."

I tensed. "Look for what?"

Alarcón lifted his hand, revealing the painting from Venice. The very same one he had bid $1.2 million on at the masquerade.

Bash frowned. "Why would a guy like you go after a painting?"

Alarcón smirked. "Because it isn’t just a painting." He turned it slightly, and for the first time, I saw it—a hidden layer beneath the paint. A message, a map, or something more.

Bash stiffened. "And I’m guessing the book holds the key to reading it."

Alarcón’s grin widened. "You do learn quickly, little man."

Bash immediately shot back, "I’m 5’7 with a one inch boot, which is basically 6’5 in the Philippines, so shut your perfect-teeth pie hole. Also, if you could drop your toothpaste brand, that’d be great—cause I just ran out and am anti-Colgate at the moment, or at least with their over-regulated HR department."

Ford exhaled sharply. "Okay, now you shut your pie hole, Bash."

Alarcón ignored us, shifting his stance. "You really don’t see it yet, do you, Ford? The emblem in Costa Rica? That wasn’t a coincidence. That was your family's mark. Your ancestor wasn’t just involved. He was the one who betrayed them all. You haven’t been following breadcrumbs—you’ve been walking his execution path."

A slow chill settled in my chest. The emblem. The symbol that started all of this. It hadn’t just been a clue—it had been a warning.

Before I could react, Alarcón yanked Elise against him, a knife at her throat. "The book. Now."

I barely hesitated before tossing the book at his feet. "Let her go."

Alarcón picked it up, flipping through the pages. His smirk deepened. "Smart choice."

A black car screeched up, headlights slicing through the alley. Alarcón shoved Elise forward and disappeared into the vehicle. It tore off down the street, vanishing into the night.

I caught Elise as she stumbled. "You okay?"

She swallowed, nodding. "If they don’t need me—if they don’t need us—anymore, they might kill her."

I met her gaze. "Then we don’t give them that choice."

Bash sighed. "Well, that was anticlimactic. No book, no map, no grand revelation—and no toothpaste brand."

I tightened my grip, watching the darkened street. "We get ahead of them. And this time, we turn the tables."

TO BE CONTINUED IN SEASON 2...

FORD’S HOTEL JOURNAL ENTRY, PART TWO

THE STORY SO FAR (SEASON RECAP)

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS: WHAT WE KNOW, WHAT WE DON’T

Always seeking the extraordinary,