Gemotions

The antique shop was stifling, the air thick with dust and the scent of aged wood. Agatha trailed her fingers along the velvet rope, a sigh escaping her lips. Each clock seemed to tick with an agonizing slowness, each knick-knack a monument to tediousness. She really didn’t want to be here. She really didn't. Her gaze flickered over a chipped porcelain doll, its painted eyes seeming to follow her, its vacant stare mirroring her own.

A glint of leather on the cobbled street outside caught her eye. She stepped out, abandoning the suffocating shop. Nestled near the overflowing trash cans lay a wallet, its worn surface catching the weak sunlight.

The wallet felt substantial in her hand. Agatha opened it, her fingers tracing the crisp, unmarked bills. Enough to... well, enough to buy a small island, probably. The only form of identification was a business card. She didn't recognize the name. What to do now?