Chapter 55 Let’s Play Spy #2
It's locked when I try to open it, so I rush back to get the keys still hanging out of the lock on Ambrose's desk.
The light on the USB still flashes, which means it isn't done yet.
Atticus said depending on the amount of data, it could take anywhere from five to twenty minutes. I'm really hoping it's closer to five.
I'm starting to think these keys don't unlock the filing cabinet when I get to the last two, but as soon as I slip the final key in, I know it's a fit, and the entire chain of cabinets clicks open.
I have no idea what's important, so I pull out the first file and start to look at what's inside of it. Tax receipts. Is that useful?
I clench my teeth, anxiety ratcheting higher. What if I miss something? I'm not Atticus. I itch to take pictures of everything, but he specifically told me not to do that. Too risky.
So I comb through several pages of tax records, feeling like I'm wasting time, until I see a recurring pattern. The name of a company that keeps popping up on almost every page. Fargo Ventures.
"Fargo Ventures," I say out loud, and then repeat it in my head five more times until I'm sure I won't forget it.
The next file looks like it's full of staff info.
I recognize Santiago because his comes with a photo, and several of the other names seem familiar as staff from his house.
Linette's in here, too, and there are more names that I don't recognize.
Some say the staff member is still active, while others have the names crossed out in red.
There's everything from cooks and landscapers to horse trainers and nurses, and the doctors who probably helped deliver me.
The next file is more of the same but also…different. The photos, names, and job titles lean more into illegal criminal empire territory. Mercenaries and ex-military. Someone who has a doctorate in cybersecurity and surveillance programs, and another who is retired from the CIA.
"Jesus."
I try to commit some of the active members' names to memory in case they'll help Atticus later.
I peer back toward the desk and see the light still blinking on the flash drive, not finished gathering data yet.
One more drawer.
I open the next one and flick through the files, reading the little tabs as I go this time.
It's a lot more incriminating in this one.
There are files filled with carefully folded blueprints for art galleries he must've stolen from.
There are also art appraisals and some contracts from some legal-looking sales.
Those won't help me right now, so I skim past them. My breath catches when I find one labeled simply 'Seven'.
Behind it is another labeled 'Elijah'. And a third with Atticus's name.
I pull out the first one, opening it to a covertly captured photo of Seven with blood on his cheek.
Of course Ambrose would have files on them since they've been actively trying to destroy his empire for the last two years, but somehow seeing their names here is still a punch to the gut.
I grind my teeth as I skim the words on the pages, needing to make sure he doesn't have any intel that could lead to him finding where they live.
I don't see anything except for copious notes on a string of serial killings in the northeast that they believe were all carried out by Seven.
Because he never went more than a six-to-seven-hour drive away from their cabin to get his hands bloody, there's a map with a suspected area they could live.
It's a huge radius, I tell myself, trying to calm the rushing of blood in my ears. It extends between one state and the next.
I can't help feeling it's too close.
I'm about to check Elijah's file when I hear the sound of water rushing through pipes in the walls.
"Fuck."
They got it unclogged.
When I shut the drawer, it slams hard, making the one below it pop open.
I freeze, hoping no one heard. The slip of paper in the drawer catches my eye. The file that contains it is wide, the ones behind it pushed back as if this one was recently touched.
I lift the single page from the file and see some kind of form I don't recognize.
It takes me a second of skimming the poorly photocopied document to realize it's a shipping manifest. One that is stamped as having been processed yesterday, with an official shipping date set for a couple days from now.
That's the day I'm supposed to be leaving.
Ambrose gave me the confirmed flight times this morning.
In the box that's meant to contain a description of the goods being exported, it simply says 'fragile items'.
There's another loud bang, but this time it's followed by the sound of footsteps headed in this direction from upstairs.
"Miss Aurora?" Santiago calls, and I launch into action.
I slip the file back where it was, shut the drawer, lock it, and whirl back to the desk.
"Fuck," I breathe when I see that the flash drive is still blinking. I don't know what happens if I pull it out too soon.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
"Santiago?" Ambrose's voice calls from the other end of the house. "What's going on?"
What the fuck?
He's early. He's so early.
He's never fucking back before four in the afternoon from his stupid fucking meetings.
I only hesitate a second before deciding I can't risk leaving the drive here, and I have to pray that whatever it did manage to get will be enough information.
The drive is hot in my hand as I rip it from the tower and close and lock the cabinet, but I can hear Santiago's feet on the stairs and Ambrose coming down the hall, and there's no more time.
I toss the keys in the drawer, replace the false bottom, and basically throw all the objects back in before shutting it and racing through to the adjoining library.
Half a second after I have the office doors shut, I grab the first book I see from the library shelves, throw myself onto the low sofa, and crack it open.
The words on the page blur as I fight to breathe through my nose and Santiago and Ambrose converge right in front of where I'm sitting in the grand foyer at the base of the staircase.
"There was an issue with the plumbing," Santiago explains, looking surprised to see me a few meters away. "Oh, Miss Aurora, I was looking for you."
"What do you mean an issue with the plumbing?" Ambrose snaps.
Santiago raises his hands in a placating gesture I know too well. "The problem is fixed," he says to Ambrose, and then gives me an imploring, pleading look. "But we'll have to ask Miss Aurora to be more…cautious with the, um, delicate products."
As I lower the book, I make a pained face and hope the redness they see in my cheeks is fully explainable from my 'error'.
"Oops," I say, swallowing past the dry lump in my throat. "Sorry."
Ambrose's eyes widen, and he clears his throat, looking away quickly as if the very mention of my unmentionables is too much. And that works out for me, so…
"Next time you call me to tell me there's a problem," Ambrose says in a low tone that betrays a level of frustration I haven't heard from him before. "Make sure it's one you can't solve without my presence."
I take it his meeting didn't go well?
Poor Ambrose.
So sad.
His eyes flit back to me, but snag on his office.
What? What is it?
I don't dare look.
Ambrose takes a long inhale, filling up his chest as he straightens, and I hold perfectly still.
"Aurora," he says on an exhale. "Would you join me for a coffee? I could use some pleasant company after the afternoon I've had."
Holy fuck.
My relief is dizzying, but short-lived as I stand and set my book on the side table.
"Of course," is what I say out loud, but in my head, I'm screaming a thousand curses when I see his office doors.
And how they're slightly ajar.