The city had forgotten her.

Five years had a way of doing that; new scandals replaced old ones, new billionaires rose to fame, and new tragedies filled the headlines.

Annabel Morris had become nothing more than another name buried somewhere in yesterday's newspapers.

Officially...

She had died during a police transfer.

Officially...

Anthony Smith was a widower.

Officially...

The case had been closed years ago.

Life had moved on.

...

"Welcome to New York."

The announcement echoed softly through the arrival terminal. Passengers hurried past one another, dragging suitcases across the polished floor. Businessmen answered phone calls, and children ran excitedly towards waiting parents.

Nobody paid any attention to the woman standing calmly beside a floor-to-ceiling window. She wore a cream trench coat that reached just below her knees, and a pair of dark sunglasses concealed her eyes despite the cloudy morning outside.

Her chestnut hair rested neatly against her shoulders, a leather passport holder sat in one hand, the other rested lightly on the handle of a black suitcase. Nothing about her attracted attention. She looked like every other traveller arriving on an early morning flight: calm, elegant, and forgettable.

A man in an expensive suit approached her. "Good morning, Ms. Laurent."

She turned. "Good morning." Her voice was composed, almost emotionless.

The man offered a polite smile. "I hope you had a pleasant flight."

"I've had worse."

"I'll take your luggage."

"No." She gave a small shake of her head. "I prefer carrying my own things."

"As you wish." He didn't argue. Instead, he handed her a thin black envelope. "Everything you requested is inside."

She accepted it without opening it.

"The apartment?" She asked, still as expressionless and unbothered.

"Ready." He replied rapidly.

"The company?" She asked again.

"Registered." He responded.

"The bank accounts?" She queried.

"Active." He replied before she could complete her sentence.

She nodded once.

"And him?" She questioned, without showing any interest in whatever the answer would be.

The man hesitated for the first time before finally responding.

"Still exactly the same."

A faint smile touched her lips, it wasn't warm, it wasn't happy, and it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.

"Good."

They began walking towards the exit. Outside, rain had started to fall. The chauffeur hurried forward to open the rear door of a waiting black sedan.

Before getting inside, the woman paused.

Across the road, mounted outside a bookstore, an enormous television screen was broadcasting a live business interview.

The headline read:

SMITH GLOBAL ANNOUNCES RECORD PROFITS FOR FIFTH CONSECUTIVE YEAR

Anthony Smith appeared on the screen. Five years had changed him very little.

He smiled confidently as reporters applauded another successful acquisition.

The woman watched for only a few seconds, no anger crossed her face, no hatred, nothing. She simply looked at him... As though she were looking at a complete stranger.

Then she entered the car and the door closed. The sedan disappeared into the morning traffic.

On the television...

Anthony Smith kept smiling. He had no idea...

That the dead had just come home.