The Continuity Package

Chapter One: The Poster

Detective Hana Ruiz was halfway through a stale biscotti when the man from the poster walked into the precinct with a neat folder under his arm. He stood at the desk with his chin lifted and his eyes steady, like a patient in a dentist’s chair pretending not to hear the drill.

“I’d like to report identity theft,” he said. His voice didn’t wobble.

Behind him, the missing persons wall hummed under the air vents. Ruiz often chose a seat with a view of it. Faces made the noise of the job human. Second row, third from the left, was Elliot Vance: thirty-three, financial analyst, last seen nine days ago, reported missing by his sister. The photo was a cropped LinkedIn headshot. He looked modest in it, as if careful not to brag.

Ruiz stood up.

“Mr. Vance,” she said.

He turned, puzzled. “Do we know each other?”

Ruiz stepped closer to the poster, then back to him. Same jaw, same trimmed hair, same faint crease near the right eye. He had on a clean blue shirt and a cheap tie. His folder was crisp and square. He had the look of a man who trusted systems to behave if you spoke to them with care.

“You filed a report?” he asked.

“You were reported missing,” Ruiz said. “Nine days ago.”

He blinked, then laughed once, short. “No. That’s a mistake. I’ve been at work. I’ve been home. Someone’s spoofed my accounts and started a prank.”

Ruiz watched his hands. They didn’t shake. “Let’s talk,” she said.

They took him into Interview Two. Ruiz sat opposite him, a plastic plant between them. The fluorescent light was hard and honest. He opened the folder and laid out printouts like cards.

“My bank statements,” he said. “I’ve had the usual spending. Lunch at Noonlight yesterday. Coffee at the kiosk on Seventh every morning at eight-oh-five. Gym visits. Metro rides. See the timestamps? They match my routine.”

His eyes were clear. His posture was straight.

Ruiz spread out the papers. The times were neat. Bank. Rideshare. Metro. Calendar invites. Calls to his sister. Calls to his boss.

“Did you take that lunch with your boss?” she asked.

“Yes. Owen. We discussed next quarter’s forecast.”

“Your sister filed the report.”

“Grace worries. I told her I’m just busy.”

The door clicked. Alvarez from the desk slid into a chair, trying to look invisible.

“Mr. Vance,” Ruiz said. “I don’t want you to panic. I do need you to come with us to your apartment.”

“Why?”

“To check on things. And because of this.” She tapped the poster printout she had pulled from a file. His eyes followed her finger.

He took in his own face on the paper. For a second, his breath hitched. He swallowed and shook his head.

“It’s wrong,” he said. “Someone is making it look like I left.”

Ruiz nodded. “Then we’ll find out why.”

They drove to his building near the river. The glass towers caught the gray light like mirrors. The wind off the water smelled like tin. Grace met them in the lobby with a face pinched from sleep. She hugged Elliot hard and then pushed him away to look at him.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

“At work,” he said. He tried to smile. “You know me. Routine. I don’t disappear.”

They went upstairs. Ruiz put on gloves and walked through the apartment. There was a shopping bag on the counter. Eggs in the fridge had cracked and leaked. Milk sour. Greens melted. A bowl with apples had gone soft. The trash smelled like someone had walked away and forgotten the week. The plants on the windowsill were slumped, leaves crisp. In the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet. There was a fresh package of dental floss, and in the sink a faint white dust.

“Open your mouth,” Ruiz said gently.

Elliot frowned, but he did. On his upper left molar, a small silver-gray filling shone where a cavity might have been. He touched his cheek as if to feel it from the outside. “I didn’t… I didn’t schedule a dentist.”

Ruiz looked at his forearms. There were faint bruises in the crook of each elbow, tiny dots where needles go. She pointed.

He pulled his sleeves down. “I donate blood,” he said quickly. “Last week.”

Grace shook her head. “You hate needles.”

“That was years ago. I got over it.”

His phone buzzed. He flinched. It was a calendar alert: Meeting with Compliance Investigator—4 p.m. He turned the screen so they could see. “I have a meeting,” he said. “I should go. I was told to talk to someone about shell corpor—”

He bit back the last word and glanced at Alvarez.

Ruiz kept her voice level. “You were scheduled to meet an investigator last week, Elliot. The day you went missing. The meeting never happened.”

He stared at her. His throat worked. Grace touched his arm.

“Let’s slow down,” Ruiz said. “Let’s go back to the beginning.”

He took a breath. “Someone is spoofing me. That’s the beginning. They got into my accounts. They made it look like I went somewhere I didn’t. Or… they made it look like I didn’t go somewhere I did. I don’t know. But I have been in my life. I’ve been on my routine.”

“Okay,” Ruiz said. “We’ll test your routine.”