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Mrs. Garofalo’s gaze grew distant, a crease forming between her precisely arched brows. For a moment, Roseline wondered if she would deny it, but then she spoke quietly. “It’s true, he had been acting… preoccupied. Distracted and quick to anger over minor things. And he was yelling constantly on phone calls he wouldn’t explain. I tried asking what was wrong, but he just said it was business matters and not to worry.”
Callan jumped in gently. “But you did worry?”
Their hostess sighed, a bone-deep weariness visible now in her face and posture. “Of course. He had never shut me out before. I may not know the details of what he did or the names of the people he dealt with, but he shared his thoughts and concerns.”
Roseline’s pulse quickened, sensing they had found the correct path after so many unsuccessful attempts led to dead ends. She leaned forward. “Did your husband seem stressed about finances? You mentioned he was yelling on mysterious calls.”
Mrs. Garofalo hesitated before giving a slight nod. “He was making large withdrawals from accounts he didn’t normally touch. And having hushed conversations about moving assets around. I thought it was odd at the time but didn’t question it.”
Bingo. Roseline met Callan’s eyes again, seeing her own building excitement reflected there. Vincent had been embroiled in major financial woes right before his disappearance. Perhaps related to debts owed to the Game Master or losses from his illicit online gambling. This could be the lead that broke everything open.
Mindful of keeping the atmosphere calm despite her thundering heartbeat, Roseline gave Mrs. Garofalo a sympathetic look. “I know this is difficult to discuss. We just want to figure out what happened. If it would help jog your memory, may we take a look in your husband’s home office?”
The widow considered for a long moment before inclining her head. “If you think it could help find answers, then yes. This way, please.”
“Thank you,” Roseline murmured.
She led them upstairs to a spacious home office occupying its own wing, decorated in dark polished mahogany. Floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases lined two walls, crammed with legal texts and reference materials. An imposing clawfoot desk stood before a Palladian window overlooking verdant gardens. Two leather club chairs faced the desk.
“I have things to take care of,” Mrs. Garofalo murmured. “Let me know if you need anything, and feel free to take whatever you think will help find him.”
When the door closed behind her, Roseline immediately went to the expansive mahogany desk and began swiftly but methodically opening and searching each drawer. Meanwhile, Callan scrutinized the rows of legal texts lining the built-in bookcases along the back wall.
“Anything promising in the desk so far?” he asked after several silent minutes of work.
Roseline huffed in frustration, shutting the last empty drawer with more force than necessary. “No, just piles of mundane paperwork. Nothing that stands out.”
She stood and scanned the room, hands planted on her hips. There had to be something here. Some clue Vincent had unwittingly left behind that could shed light on his dealings with the Game Master.
She noticed Callan tilting his head as he studied a section of books. He reached out and tugged on the spine of one book, then another, seeming to test their resistance.
“Check this out,” he murmured. “This entire row is tilted ever so slightly outward from the shelf. There’s a wider gap behind them.”
Joining him at the bookcase, Roseline could see what he meant. While all the other books were perfectly aligned, this one shelf jutted out a couple millimeters. She held her breath as Callan slid his fingers into the gap and felt along the back of the shelf.
After a moment, his eyes widened fractionally. “There’s something tucked way back here.”
He shifted his position to get better leverage, grunting softly with effort. Roseline watched as he strained to reach for whatever object was concealed there.
Callan made a small “aha” sound and extracted his hand. When he turned toward her, he was holding a small, nondescript black USB drive, no bigger than a thumb. But the tiny triangular symbol etched onto one side made Roseline’s pulse leap.
“I recognize that insignia from the hidden forums I’ve been monitoring. It’s associated with chatter about the Game Master,” she explained. “This could be huge, Callan. Nice find.”
He nodded, tucking the drive away securely. “Let’s get out of here so you can start digging into this thing.”
After an awkward yet polite farewell, Roseline and Callan hurried out the front door, down the steps, and climbed into her waiting car.
As Roseline started the engine, possibilities spun wildly through her thoughts. What encrypted files or incriminating data might the USB drive contain? Could it lead them to concrete evidence linking Vincent to the Game Master?
She glanced over at Callan in the passenger seat beside her, his expression mirroring her own—a mix of excitement and apprehension.
“I can’t wait to dig into that drive,” he murmured. “Maybe it’ll give us the chance to give Mrs. Garofalo an update as well. I don’t like leaving her in the dark about all of this. Her husband’s disappearance is clearly troubling her.”
“We should take it straight to the station then,” she declared. “I know it may take longer to analyze there without my specialized equipment. But the security protocols should shield us from any nasty countermeasures if we stumble onto something sensitive.”
“Absolutely, that’s the safest play,” Callan agreed readily. He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Better slow and steady than exposing ourselves to unnecessary risk before we know what we’re dealing with.”
Fortified by his steadfast support, Roseline put the car in drive and pulled away down the tree-lined street. As she navigated toward the station, adrenaline coursed through her veins. This mysterious device could mark the beginning of the end of the Game Master’s sadistic reign of terror. She was determined to extract every last byte of intel from it.
