26. Chapter Twenty Six #2
Every desk drawer has been opened. Some of the contents are scattered across the rug: pens, paper clips, receipts, a stapler, miscellaneous paperwork.
The stack of invoices I left beside my keyboard is spread across the floor.
My chair has been shoved sideways.
Several cabinet doors are open.
The filing cabinet has been disturbed.
What catches my attention almost as quickly as the mess is what I do not see.
Nothing appears broken.
I return to the entrance and examine the lock from inside.
No obvious scratches. No damage around the frame.
Whoever entered either knew how to get through the lock or took enough care to leave almost no evidence of forcing it.
I close and lock the door behind me, then holster my weapon.
Mocha works along the base of my desk while I survey the room again.
“Great start to the day.”
He ignores me.
I walk behind the desk and check the obvious things.
I take my laptop home with me every day, so there's nothing to see other than a monitor, a keyboard, and a mouse. Everything is exactly where I left it.
The printer is untouched.
I keep a small amount of petty cash under some things in one of my drawers. It's not an amazing hiding spot, but it's not a huge amount of cash either. Just for food deliveries and coffee.
It's still there.
I move to the cabinet and check that next.
Nothing obvious is missing.
This was not burglary in the traditional sense.
Whoever came in was looking for something specific.
That conclusion sits in my gut because the timing makes the likely target difficult to ignore.
Yesterday, I found out about Lakeview Logistics.
Sometime between yesterday and today, someone breaks into my office and searches it.
Coincidence is technically possible.
If I believed in it.
I reach for my phone, then hesitate.
Police first or Lorenzo?
I look at the room again and already know exactly what happens when I tell him.
He will come here.
Then he will ask why I entered the office instead of staying in the hallway and waiting for someone else to clear it.
After that, he will focus on the fact that an unknown person got access to my workspace, which will undoubtedly lead to several very strong suggestions.
I exhale.
No point finishing that argument in my head before he has a chance to participate.
The other option is not telling him.
That lasts approximately three seconds.
He would be furious if he learned about this later, and annoyingly, he would have a legitimate reason. If someone broke into Lorenzo’s office, I would be furious if he didn't tell me. Even if I wasn't actively investigating a threat against him.
So yes, he gets told.
He just does not get told first.
The police are almost certainly going to be useless.
Someone broke into my office. Nothing was stolen. There is no visible damage, no suspect conveniently waiting downstairs, and at the moment I cannot even prove the break-in is connected to an active investigation.
This will fall somewhere below a stolen bicycle on their list of priorities.
I still need the report.
If this escalates, I want documentation establishing exactly when someone entered my office and searched it.
Police first.
Then Lorenzo.
I unlock my phone and start pulling up the number.
Mocha signals, drawing my attention.
When I walk over, he continues his search, his nose glued to the floor in front of the filing cabinet.
He works slowly along the floor in front of it, then follows the scent upward toward the lower drawer.
“Mocha.”
He keeps working.
His nose moves along the drawer handle, down the side of the cabinet, then back to the floor.
He stays in that area longer than anywhere else in the room.
I lower the phone.
Someone spent time there.
Enough to leave a stronger scent than they did around the desk or cabinets.
I crouch several feet away and watch him.
The filing cabinet contains old paperwork, completed administrative files, invoices, receipts, and documents I need to retain without needing regular access to them.
Nothing important to the current investigation.
Nothing I would care about an intruder seeing.
Because despite whatever impression Lorenzo occasionally has of my ability to make sensible decisions, I am not an idiot.
My actual case material is digital, encrypted, backed up, and protected. Anything especially sensitive is never kept in one place where someone can walk in, open a drawer, and take it.
I look from the filing cabinet to the rest of the room.
“They were looking for the case.”
Mocha continues sniffing.
The mess makes more sense once I look at it from that perspective.
This was not someone tossing the office for valuables.
They searched the desk, the cabinets, the files.
They were looking for information.
Maybe they wanted everything I have on Rachel.
Maybe Harbor Peak.
Maybe Lakeview.
Probably all of it.
I glance toward the laptop bag still sitting near the door.
Whoever came in found nothing useful because I left nothing useful here for them to find.
That should be comforting.
It isn't.
Instead, I groan out loud.
What are the chances they didn't break into my house and leave just as big a mess there?
I have a security system, and it didn't go off, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything.
I straighten and start dialing the police.
Mocha finally leaves the filing cabinet and comes back toward me.
“He’s going to lose his mind.” I scratch behind his ear while I listen to the ringing. “This morning officially sucks.”
First the police.
Then Lorenzo.
After that, I am going to find out exactly what Lakeview Logistics is and why one name was enough to change everything between last night and this morning.
Because now I am officially pissed off.