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“I’m assuming you both… talked this little issue out already?” I sighed as I didn’t want to assume he knew, but ultimately realized my mistake of talking to her in the living room. I took a sip before speaking as I left the room.
“Yeah.. you could say that..”
Walking into Blaine’s building, I was immediately greeted and escorted to his office. The lobby had gone silent, and the only noise was the sound of the elevator descending. The doors opened as I entered and pressed the button for the top floor.
Exiting on arrival, I walked towards his office. Passing his secretary, I opened the door, and he jumped as his jar of Nutella flew out of his hand. He was sitting at his desk with his propped feet up and his computer open. I admired his decor and how he kept it in such order. It was exquisite. I should know since I designed it myself.
He placed his legs down and stood up. “You could always knock, you know.”
Fixing my cufflinks, I shrugged. “You walk into my building every day without any notice in advance. You’ll be fine.”
“Well, at least I don’t just barge in. I make my presence known beforehand.” He rounded his desk but not before picking up his jar. After leaving his office, he led me down the hall and opened the door to reveal a group of men and women typing on their computers or walking around. He strode over to a woman seated in the middle of the room and smiled.
“Jane,” He began, and she looked up, gulping once she saw the both of us.
“Yes, sir?”
“Pull up our findings for Mr. Russel over on the smart board.” She quickly pulled it up, and I looked over to the changing screen as the profile of a man was shown.
She quickly excused herself to give us privacy as Blaine spoke. “That’s our guy,” He said, pointing his spoon at the screen, and I studied its contents carefully.
“What do we know about him?”
“Eugene Newman. 25-year-old, 6-foot army soldier. Left the country seven years ago. Eye color blueish green, blood type O. Track star since he was nine and has been off the grid for a year… Until..” He grabbed the iPad off the table and switched the screen to show a few pictures. “A few days ago.”
“He went awol..” I muttered, and Blaine tilted his head for a moment. “Well.. not necessarily.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, and he shrugged.
“Technically, he was announced dead around the same time he ran. Ruled as an accidental death in an explosion after officials found an unrecognizable torched corpse with his tag around the neck..”
“And how was Brielle not notified about this?” I questioned, tilting my head, and he shrugged.
“Take a look at this and see for yourself.” He suggested, and soon, he flipped through a few photos before stopping on a specific one.
“Is that Brielle?” I spoke, and he nodded.
“Sure looks like it to me.” He responded, and I crossed my arms.
“He’s been following her ever since he left?” I muttered, and Blaine took another spoonful into his mouth before shrugging again.
“Plenty of time to check her mail to make sure she didn’t get a letter of his death or.. take out any military officers that wanted to deliver the message in person.” He hinted, raising an eyebrow, and I looked at him in disbelief.
“So you’re saying aside from being a runaway soldier, a track star, and Brielle’s precious and beloved brother, he’s a murderer?”
“Well, who do you think planted the body so the military officers could discover his dead comrade instead of him?” Running my hand down my face, I sighed as he continued going through the photos. In another picture, we could clearly see Brielle walking out the front door as he sat beside it with a hood on.
We could only see a little bit of his face, but the face recognition confirmed it was him. Another photo showed him walking towards the camera and away from my building, but if you zoomed toward the back, you could clearly see Brielle and Delilah getting in the car with George as the rain poured.
“Do we know anything about where he lives?”
“All we know is a potential location across town—it might be in an old warehouse.” I nodded, and Blaine chuckled as he shook his head. “Guess who’s hosting a gala for his son in the next few days?”
“I already have an idea of who..” I muttered, shaking my head, and he spoke again.
“And guess who’s invited?”
I groaned. “Please don’t say me.”
