"Dios," he breathes, and ushers me away from the wet floor. "You leave this to us, miss. Why not go have an early lunch? The chef has some things set out in the kitchen."
The two other cleaning ladies enter my room, their black shoes squelching in the water as the make their way to the bathroom to stop the leak.
"We'll have this all fixed and cleaned up as soon as we can."
"I—I'm so sorry," I mutter.
"Not to worry. Not to worry. Go on. It's fine."
At his insistence and the slight push of his hands, I leave, only letting myself preen once I'm all the way down the stairs and through the arched opening to the library and the doors to Ambrose's office are in sight.
I hope I'll hear them if they come back down the stairs, but I'm ready with an excuse. Since my laptop isn't working, wouldn't it be reasonable for me to try checking my email from Ambrose's office? Innocent enough, no?
But I know they don't want me in here touching anything, or else Ambrose or his staff would've suggested it instead of offering to buy me a new laptop.
The USB stick is heavy in my pocket as I enter the office and slowly shut the doors behind me, covertly checking for cameras like Atticus taught me. But like the rest of the interior of the house, there aren't any. Not that I can tell.
And I think it must be by design. Surveillance cameras can be hacked. He wouldn't want any in his house, tracking his movements.
The first thing I notice is the art on the walls. I've learned enough from Eli and the others to know fine art when I see it now, and these are definitely that. It's the first real evidence I've seen in this house that he is the impostor White Rose the guys say he is.
The lily pads and art style one on the right give it away as a Monet, but the other…
It takes me a second to really understand what I'm looking at, but when I do, I gasp.
It's the pond.Theirpond. And the painting of it is everything Julian said. The still water looks like the shade of Seven's eyes in the dark of night. The clay soil at its edge—just as soft and warm as Elijah's. And there's Atticus in every spot of light and warmth. The gold and copper tones of his hair. The honey of his eyes.
It's…incredible.
The second I think it, an ugly feeling twists in my stomach.
Because this artwork isn't Ambrose's to admire.
He fucking stole it from them.
FromJulian.
My hands flex and twitch at my sides.
Fucking bastard.
Displaying this in his office issotwisted. I want to rip it off his wall and take it somewhere he can't even look at it. But I can't do that.
Not yet.
With a renewed sense of purpose, I turn to the desk, scanning for a computer tower, the USB stick out and ready.
But there's only a monitor. I search its edges, looking for a spot for the USB to plug in, but there doesn't seem to be one. I follow the cords into a hold in the top of the desk and drop to the floor, searching the rest of the desk until I find a cupboard that's about the right size for a computer tower.
I tug the handle, but it doesn't budge.
Then I'm in the drawers, the fire in my chest pushing me to work faster. I will not let this fucker get away with this. I'm getting this fucking USB stick in his shit one way or another.
I've been complacent. Getting too comfortable in this place with this monster.
Something upstairs thuds, and I wait, holding my breath to listen in case someone's coming down the stairs, but I don't hear anything else.
I check the last drawer, careful not to move anything I touch as I search for the key. When I move the stapler, the bottom of the drawer shifts. A false bottom.
