The unforgiving cold mountain air hit Blake, sharp and painful. He pulled out his phone and dialed a familiar number.
"Mark," he said when his assistant answered.
There was a pause. Then the shock in Mark's voice. "Sir? Is everything alright?"
"My daughter is dead," Blake said simply. "She slit her own wrist."
Silence followed.
"No…" Mark whispered. "Miss Natalie? That cannot be… I am so sorry, sir. My condolences. But… are you sure? She… she never seemed like someone who would…"
"I know," Blake replied, his voice dangerously calm. "And that is why I want you to investigate. Check the CCTV around the cabin. Every road, every nearby camera. Look into every communication tied to her name."
Mark hesitated. "But, sir, you forbade her from having a phone or any gadgets. I remember you only gave her a basic phone that accepts calls solely from you and Madam, and she can use it to contact outsiders."
