Page 22 of Chameleon Killer

Conference photo.

Golf photo.

Missing photo.

The arrangement looked balanced until you knew something had been taken.

Then it looked wrong.

I opened the top drawer of the desk.

Empty folders.

Pens.

Stationery.

A roll of antacids.

Second drawer.

Expense envelopes.

Old visitor badges.

A keycard from the Drake.

Third drawer seemed too shallow. I ran my fingers around the interior and found the lock mechanism at the back.

Interesting.

Executives locked drawers for three reasons: money, secrets, or sentiment. Guy Reardon did not strike me as sentimental.

The lock took no time at all to bypass. Inside sat a file box. The FBI hadn’t taken it in as evidence, so either they’d missed it or someone else had put it back after.

The latter seemed unlikely.

I removed the file box to the desktop and set my dummy folder next to it.

I lifted the lid.

Printouts.

Contracts.

Internal memos.

Draft language for restructuring agreements.

A handwritten note on network stationery.

Not Guy’s handwriting.

Too angular.

Too controlled.

I photographed each page with my phone.