Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I’m in uncharted territory, going off the theory, that Frankie wouldn't have shown whatever is important in this house. That means there’s nothing in the living room, the library or the billiard room. But I saw this hallway when I was in the kitchen last time. I’m assuming it’s meaningful since Frankie didn’t mention it on his tour.
There are three doors in this hallway, and I’m not sure which one to try first. To start, I twist one knob and find it locked. I try the one on the opposite side and that’s locked as well. The third door is farthest from the kitchen. I place my hand over the knob and twist, delighted when the latch disengages and the door swings inward.
The fact that it’s not locked may or may not be relevant. I might have stumbled across the least important of the three rooms. Or, I might have found the one most frequently in use. It is possible that Corello didn’t lock this room because no one in their right mind would enter. Maybe there’s a protective culture of silence that keeps people out, making the head of the family confident that he doesn’t have to protect his secrets.
I’m hoping that’s the case. What I want is a smoking gun, or at the very least a paper trail that could lead me to Danny’s killer. Anything else I find here will be icing on the cake.
I leave the lights off. We’re far enough away from the living room that I don’t think Corello and his brother will notice if I switch them on. But better safe than sorry. There is a certain amount of light coming in through the window, so I can make do.
I see a desk, a lamp, several chairs, and a couch. There’s nothing in the room that’s immediately suspicious. It’s clearly an office, and a well-funded one at that. The couch is real leather; even in the darkness, I can smell its authenticity. The desk is massive and made of wood, obviously handcrafted. Just like everything else in this house, the office screams money.
I hurry across the rug, knowing that my time is short. I need to discover whatever has been left unguarded and make my way back upstairs before Frankie realizes that I’m gone. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but I’m confident that I’ll know it when I see it. I’ve done tons of research on this family, and anything that strikes me as significant will be simple enough to find.
I pull my phone out, ready to take pictures. I feel like a spy in a blockbuster movie, or like a thief. I remind myself that I’m on the right side of the law. They are the ones who have broken the social contract repeatedly through murder and bribery. I’m only trying to bring them to justice.
I open the top drawer on the left-hand side to begin my search. Inside, I find nothing but paperclips and envelopes. I paw through them, searching for writing. It’s difficult to see, and I’m worried that I’m glossing over something important. I find a small journal with gilded edges, the kind of thing that’s sold in every chain bookstore. It’s about the size of my palm and fits easily in my pocket. I want to open it, but I don’t have time, so I move on to the next drawer.
I’m halfway through the desk when the light snaps on. Caught red-handed, I glance up to see Corello standing in the doorway with a gun. He points the weapon at me, his expression neutral.
My blood runs cold. This is the end of the line. In short order, he will find out about my brother and me. I’ve been unmasked.
I lower my phone, having not even captured one single image. It clatters onto the desk with a sound that almost startles me. I have time for one last ironic thought, and that’s what a horrible thief I am. I couldn’t even complete one assignment before getting caught. Thank goodness it’s only my life on the line, and not anyone else’s. I would be exponentially more disappointed if I felt I was letting anyone else down.
Of course, Frankie will be heartbroken. He just confessed his love to me as we bared our souls to each other for the first time. I don’t want him to think that all I cared about was digging up dirt on his father. I realize suddenly that’s not the only reason I want to spend time with him. I like Frankie. I may even love him. And because I know this is the end of our relationship, I wish I could go back and change things. Maybe I would have allowed him to see the real me, the one who is still hurting after discovering her brother dead on the couch. Maybe I would have explained why I’m convinced his father had a hand in it and asked for his help.