I commit the placement of the items to memory and then remove them, lifting the thin rectangle of wood to revealthe motherfucking keys.
Grinning, I'm quick to move back to the cupboard and get it open on the second key.
Inside, the computer tower's power light flashes. "Jackpot."
I stab the USB into the first port I see and sigh when the little red light at its tip begins to flash as it pillages data from Ambrose's system.
Then I'm up.
Files.
Where would he keep files?
My pulse thrums as I scan the shelves and cupboards, looking for anything that looks more like a filing cabinet.
"Bingo."
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'mreallyhoping 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. Somesay 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 copiousnotes 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.
