When socialite Lydia Fairfax vanishes, the city erupts in a frenzy of headlines, search parties, and speculation. But reporter Ethan Cole sees something far stranger simmering beneath the media circus: a string of overlooked disappearances of elderly women no one bothers to notice.

As Ethan peels back layers of wealth and corruption, he discovers a conspiracy stretching from his city’s streets to the highest offices of power.

The Vanishing Years is a taut, speculative thriller about truth in an age of disinformation, the commodification of human life, and the terrifying lengths the powerful will go to ensure they never fade away.

The following is Part 1 of the series which I will post over the next few weeks in serial form. I hope you enjoy!

**

The news broke just after noon, and you could feel the shift in the newsroom before anyone said a word. Alex, the anxious summer intern, barreled into me as I reached for the coffee pot, sending a wave of lukewarm coffee down my white shirt.

“Oh God, I’m sorry!” he stammered.

I sighed and dabbed at the stain. “Don’t worry about it.”

But he was already leaning past me, eyes glued to his phone.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“You didn’t hear?” His face lit with nervous excitement. “Lydia Fairfax is missing. They’re doing a press conference right now.”

Across the room, reporters clustered in front of the TVs. I followed Alex into the scrum just as the police chief appeared on-screen. Lydia Fairfax—socialite, heiress—hadn’t been seen since leaving a downtown club four nights ago. Honey-blond hair, flawless smile, a permanent tabloid fixture. And now, our newest obsession.

Roger, the managing editor, stood watching, arms folded.

“So, what do we know?” I asked him.

“Not much. She left the club and never made it home. A couple of our people are digging.”

“Going to need more than that,” I said.

“Which is why you’re on it now.”

The first step in a story like this is never the press release. It’s the sources who whisper but won’t be quoted, the people who know things they shouldn’t. Roger knew I had those.

By six o’clock, the newsroom was in chaos. I stepped out, phone pressed to my ear, and finally reached the detective I trusted. His voice was flat, professional, but underneath it I caught something else: hesitation, maybe even discomfort.

And that’s when I realized this case wasn’t strange because Lydia Fairfax was famous. It was strange because, behind closed doors, her family didn’t seem all that worried.

To be continued …