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Silence is the response.
Determined not to give up on finding out the truth, I decide this may be my only chance to search the house. Maybe Christopher left something in his office that can lead to answers. His office is on the third floor, and I don’t waste any time heading there.
Standing in the doorway, I survey the room. “If I were a deep, dark secret, where would I hide?” I whisper to myself.
I don’t even know what I’m looking for. It’s not like a hitman writes a receipt. Going over to his desk, I thumb through papers to see if anything sticks out to me. I’m careful to place them back exactly as they were because Christopher is very particular and will notice anything out of place.
Honestly, I don’t think he would be dumb enough to leave something incriminating right out in the open, so when I continue my search, I rifle through the desk drawers. Everything here seems to be all work stuff. Nothing jumps out at me.
I stand and go over to the bookshelves. He has hundreds of books, most of them on finance, but some are for leisure. Moving up and down the shelves, my eyes take in everything to see if anything looks odd or out of place. I must touch every single book on the shelves, and I find nothing.
Once finished, I stand and turn in circles, pulling at my hair.Come on, theremustbe something here. The desk catches my eye again, and I decide to take another pass at it. Walking over, I sit down in the luxurious chair.
When I attempt to move forward, the chair seems to be stuck. It’s also a little too tall for me to use my feet, but I don’t want to adjust it and not put it back exactly right. I grab under the lip of the desk and try to pull myself forward.
A gasp escapes me as my finger catches on something.Oh, that’s weird. What is that?There is no drawer here; all of them are off to the right side of the desk. Christopher likes this style because it’s more modern and sleeker while providing more leg room. With its slim top, there shouldn’t be anything under here, but I feel a slight indention when my fingers brush the wood on the underside of the desktop.
Dropping to my knees, I crawl under the desk and run my hands all around the underside. There’sdefinitelysomething here. I just know it! I whip out my cell phone and turn on the flashlight. It's hard to see under here, and I can barely make out an outline of what looks like a secret compartment. As soon as the light hits it, I find what I’m looking for.
Bingo!
This has to be it. Now, how do I open it?
I push up on it, and nothing happens. My eyes search the immediate area, and I finally see a discreet indention for a key.Ugh!How am I supposed to get this open? I don’t have a key!
Crawling out from under the desk to stand, I put my hands on my hips and pace the room, thinking. My hands repeatedly run through my hair as I will all of my brain cells to hold hands and figure this out!
Just breathe and think for a minute.
Where would he keep the key? Hopefully, it’s in here because if it isn’t—and it’s on him—I’m screwed.
I go back to the bookshelves and run my hands behind them and open them, shaking them out. After thirty minutes or so, I find a thick book that’s far too light when I pick it up. My heart rate jumps, and I hold my breath. When I open it, I find the inside of the book is carved out, and a small silver key is waiting for me.
Yes!
I drop the book and run back to the desk, diving under it. “Ouch!” I yelp, rubbing my head after whacking it on the corner in my haste. There’s already a welt forming on my forehead, and I groan.That’s going to leave a mark for sure.I only spare a second to nurse the throbbing pain before excitement once again takes me over.
Wasting no more time, I slide the key into the lock I found and turn. The compartment pops open and hidden inside is a folder. I grab it and slide out from under the desk. This must have something to do with Swank; I can feel it.
I shove the chair out of the way and spread the papers out on the floor. It takes me a minute to figure out what I’m looking at. It appears to be bank statements, but nothing is in Christopher’s name. It’s a business account I’ve never heard of.
Enterprise International, LLC.
It has a shit ton of money sitting in a Cayman account, from what I can tell.What is he up to?I scan the papers for any information that might be useful. It looks like the account was set up at least four years ago. He’s hidden this for that long? I can’t even wrap my head around all of this.
Suddenly, the door slams shut on the first floor, and my eyes widen as a jolt of anxiety explodes in my chest and weaves its way through me in record speed.
Shit! He’s home!
After organizing the papers into the correct order as fast as I possibly can, I dive under the desk, shove the folder back in the hidey hole, close it, and lock it back. I jump up and roll the chair under the desk before making a run for the door. only noticing the book still laying on the floor.
Oh God. Andrea, you have to put the key back!
As quickly and quietly as I can, I run over and scoop up the book before returning the key and the book to the shelf where I found it. I spin in a circle, quickly scanning the room to make sure everything looks right. It’ll have to be good enough because I don’t have any more time. I can hear him coming up the stairs.
I dart out of the room and close the door as quietly as possible; only a soft click sounds. My heart is pounding, and my breaths are uneven. I take a steadying breath and turn around to head down the hall. As I start down the steps, Christopher turns the corner on the stairs. His eyes snap to mine.
“Andrea, what are you doing up here?”
