“Well, we have two options. We can obliterate the drawer, but that might ruin whatever is inside. Or you can start looking for the key while I try to break it open with Lucky.”
“Lucky?” I ask, brows furrowing until she holds up her lock pick from earlier. “Of course.”
I start with all the drawers first, but come up empty-handed before moving about the room. Ainsley sends us a text, checking on us and reassuring us that the coast is clear. After five minutes of nothing, I check on Rory.
“Well?” I walk around the desk so that I can see her. “Any progress?”
“This isn’t like a regular lock. It’s one very specific key. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to get in with this,” she says, frustrated. “I’m sorry.”
“Ugh,” I groan, collapsing into my father’s chair.
“Look at him.” She points to a picture of our family on his desk and shakes her head. “It’s like he wants everyone to believe he’s this great husband and father.”
I huff a laugh of agreement. That’s my father. The great pretender. Always more concerned about appearances than facts. He’s always saidThe truth doesn’t matter. What matters is what you can make people believe.I stare at the picture until it dawns on me.
“My father never had people in here,” I exclaim.
“So?” Rory asks slowly.
“So if you’re my father, why bother having a picture of your family on the desk?” I ask, standing up and taking hold of the photo. “I can assure you, it wasn’t because he loves us.”
I flip the tabs on the back of the frame, one by one, glancing up at Rory before flipping the last one. I pull the back off, and something falls out. The sound of metal striking the desk causes us both to jump.
“No way,” Rory says with arelieved laugh.
“Yes!” I pick up the small key and stick it into the hole. “Here goes nothing.”
Holding my breath, I turn it slowly, only exhaling when I hear the sound of a latch releasing. I press down on the bottom of the drawer, but this time, instead of nothing happening, it springs open.
“Holy shit,” Rory’s voice sounds from behind me as we both stare down at what has to be about fifteen stacks of one-hundred, one-hundred-dollar bills and a folder beneath it.
A part of me gets angry all over again at my father. He knew this money was here the whole time he was in jail and never bothered to mention it to my mother or me. I scoop up wrapped stacks and quickly throw them into my bag so I can gain access to the folder beneath them. I pull it out and place the folder on the desk with shaking hands.
After a minute of doing nothing but staring, Rory places her hand on my shoulder.
“Do you want me to open it?” she asks softly.
I place my hand over hers on my shoulder and hold it tight.
“No, I have to do this myself,” I breathe.
With her support, I open the folder and begin to read. Pages on pages of incriminating information on every page. Wire transfer confirmations to offshore accounts, a few signed contracts hinting at bribery, notes with names and dates of suspicious “transactions”, and finally, a USB tucked inside with who knows what on it. I’m so overwhelmed that I fall back onto the chair.
“It’s all here. Every bit of evidence is right here,” I say out loud, mostly to myself as I try to shake the shock I’m feeling.
It’s one thing to have a feeling about something, but it’s entirely another when the proof is sitting right in front of me. So many people lost their lives, and for what? A selfish man’s greed formoney and power? A cold sweat breaks on the back of my neck, and I push down the bile threatening to rise.
“Tris,” Rory says, the sound of her worry pulling me from my spiraling. “Some of these bank statements have your name on them.”
“What?” I lean forward, checking it all for myself.
“What does this mean?” Rory asks, leaning over my shoulder.
I turn the pages of the statements, and sure enough, my name and a signature that looks nothing like mine are all over them.
“It means I need a lawyer,” I tell her, pulse jumping. I place the paperwork back into the folder and into my bag before putting everything else back the way we found it. “Let’s go.”
We bolt from the study, rushing down the stairs to the front door. My hand hits the handle at the exact moment someone else pushes it open, and both Rory and I scream.
