The day dawned bright and clear.
Adam Reynolds rose early, and despite the bachelor's clutter in his apartment, he took meticulous care with his appearance. He donned a beige suit, a gray tie, and adorned his lapel with a rose, a spritz of cologne completing the ensemble. He was heading out to a friend's engagement party.
He never would have imagined that Liam O'Connor, his friend of over a decade and a staunch advocate of bachelorhood, would ever settle down. Adam recalled Liam's pronouncement in high school: "Love is merely a tool for novelists to wring tears; it holds no place in reality." Yet, that philosophy had been utterly discarded the moment he met Emily Thompson in college.
Stepping out of his apartment, Adam hailed a taxi. Before the driver could even speak, a memory flashed through his mind.
"Can I call you brother? I've wished for so long that you could be my brother!"
"Of course," Noah Harrison replied, "We are cousins, after all."
"Brother," Fiona Taylor said, approaching the desk and opening the first drawer on the left. She pulled out this month's issue of Coffee & Tea, "Have you read this magazine?"
"Ah, yes, I have. Adam Reynolds, his deductive reasoning is truly remarkable. To so keenly discern such intricate methods, it's no wonder he writes mystery novels."
"Killing with a coat hanger," Fiona Taylor murmured, turning to the page detailing the murder method, re-reading every line. Suddenly, she clutched the magazine, raising her head to Noah Harrison. "He truly is a formidable killer. Adam Reynolds, if he could help us avert the disaster facing the York family, I'd very much like to meet him. I used to think he was just an armchair theorist, unable to distinguish between fiction and reality. But now it seems he possesses genuine skill. Do you know where he lives? I want to see him immediately!"
At that very moment, Adam Reynolds was back home, agonizing over a cryptic message. He explored various angles—homophones, musical notes, letters—and meticulously dissected the string of numbers, yet no conclusion emerged. He began to wonder: Was this truly a death message? Could it simply be a wrong number? No, he'd already checked the Yellow Pages; this number couldn't be linked to any real one, unless it was an overseas call.