ADELINE

I ring the doorbell, and a young lady opens the door. "How can I help you?" Her brown hair is slicked back in a tight bun. She must be a maid.

"I am here to interview Mrs. Windsor." She seems to recognize me. "You're the lady that called?"

"Miss West, yes." She lets me inside. The house is a place you would expect to see in movies. Vintage millionaire movies.

A hardwood floor that makes the creamy white walls pop and golden sconces here and there. There is a big staircase with marble steps and portraits everywhere. Sage green couches and a glass coffee table are in the living room.

I had just stopped admiring the chandelier when an old lady in blue called for me. "Have a seat, dear." This must be Amy. With a smile, I sit across from her on a green armchair.

"How have you been?" I took out my phone and opened the document, where I listed a few questions to ask her.

"Better. I am finally ready to talk." I give her my condolences and start with the interview. The young lady from earlier comes with a tray and tea cups.

"Tea?" I shake my head, and she places a cup for Amy before walking away.

"So, tell me about him a bit." I hit the record button on my phone and placed it on the coffee table.

"Joe is a kind man. We have been married for 35 years." She plays with her wedding as she speaks.

"He loves his job greatly. When he was called a traitor and taken for trial, his entire world broke." I smile sympathetically at her.

"It must have been so hard for you." She sighs as she remembers. I need to maneuver my way out of the sympathy phase and onto the information collection phase.

"It was. He was so worried about me. He used to hide stacks of money in the house so that I would have something to rely on if he was taken."

Stacks of money? Doesn't he have a bank account?

"Wasn't Mr. Windsor given 12 million dollars after his trials?" She nods.

"Yes, but his account is frozen until further notice." A bank account freeze means you can't take or transfer money out of the account. Bank accounts are typically frozen for suspected illegal activity, a creditor seeking payment, or a government request.

Windsor was labeled innocent in front of the public; they can't freeze his account for that. It should have opened the minute he was promised his position back.

The government must have requested it after his death. "Do you know why?" I ask. She shakes her head. I bet she barely leaves the house, let alone understand how banks work.

"Did your husband know about this?" Windsor must know how these procedures are done. "He must have. He understood them better than me."

Why could he keep stacks of money in the house if his account was active back then? Did he know he was going to die? Or was his account always frozen?

"Did Mr. Windsor have any enemies?" This is the classic question that most people answer with a no, but for someone like Windsor, he must have mentioned it at least once.

"All men have enemies. My husband is no different." Most times, I like old people who speak in riddles, but right now I am holding back my sarcastic comments.

"Do you know any of them?" She better have names for me. "He never involved me in his work. Joe has lots of friends that come and visit him in his study. He never mentioned any of them to me, and I never met them formally."

This is going nowhere. Either Windsor kept his wife in the dark, unlike most politicians, or she is lying. I give her the benefit of the doubt and move on to the next question.

"Did you notice anything odd about your husband before his death?" she takes a minute to think. "He was very upset. He stayed in his study all the time, and I heard him talking to someone before. He used to tell me never to trust the government and to avoid talking to them unless necessary."

I am not the government he meant, but I am the government nonetheless. Except I am looking for his killer. "What do you know about the scandals from 2001?"

Her face contorts in anger. "Lies! They are all lies!" Woah, okay. I change the subject. "Did you notice anything odd in his office when you emptied it?"

She calms down and sips a bit of her tea. "I haven't emptied it yet. When one of Joe's friends came to pick up some files, I decided I would leave it for a bit longer. In case something important is inside."

"Who is that friend?" She places her cup back on the table. "I am not sure. Joe had told me to give him a folder full of files when he comes. All I remember is that he is Joe's colleague."

Another politician who has a relationship with Windsor. If only women were more focused on what is going on in their husband's lives than their house decor, we might have solved world hunger.

I end the record.

"Can I have a look at the study?" She nods and slowly stands up. "Just don't take anything." I smile at her. "I won't."

She calls for her maid, and they take me to the wooden double door at the end of the hallway. Amy needs a cane to walk, which is weird compared to a healthy 66-year-old Windsor.

The maid unlocks the door and we walk in. Windsor's study has the same vibe as the rest of the house, except the walls are dark and the room lacks green.

He has a big desk in the middle of the room and a bookshelf that takes up the entire wall. The curtains are closed, and little candles are lit in the wall sconces.

There is a small cabinet in the corner. I head to the desk first and sit on the swivel chair. I open the drawers and go through them one by one. Most of these are letters from the president and other ministers.

I didn't read them; I just went over the words with my eye to catch anything interesting, but there wasn't. The government didn't go through this desk, or they wouldn't leave all these here.

I found a copy of the president's contract with Windsor about his return to The Pentagon. "Did your husband have a diary or something like that?"

I ask Amy as I place all the papers back where they were. "Not that I know of, no." I stand and head to the bookshelf. I run a hand on the spines of the books. They are all political and a bit psychological.

The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene, Why Nations Fail - The Origins of Power by Daron Acemoglu, The Concise 33 Strategies of War by Robert Greene again, and Principles for Dealing with The Changing World Order - Why Nations Succeed and Fail by Ray Dalio.

One book catches my attention. A very random addition. The Merchant of Venice, by William Shakespeare. That is a sharp twist of events.

Maybe he likes literature too, and a bit of comedy. Though I wouldn't call Shakespeare's humor fitting to today's standard,. I take the book out.

The first 20 pages were in perfect condition, but once I opened the book from the middle, I noticed the hole. From pages 34 to 65, there is a key-shaped hole in the paper.

"Does Mr. Windsor have a vault?" I ask Amy as I shut the book and put it back exactly where it was. Between A Brief History of Equality by Thomas Piketty and The Psychology of Money by Morgan Housel.

"Yes, all politicians have specifically designed vaults for their personal use." I nod. That must be what the book is for—hiding the key to his wealth.

I go to the cabinet and look inside. There is nothing of interest, just a few bottles of medicine and empty jewel cases. I wonder where the CD's went.

I shut the cabinet just as Amy gets dizzy and drops her cane. The maid and I reach her before she hits the ground, and we hold her up.

"Mrs. Windsor! Are you alright?" She doesn't answer, but she is conscious. "She didn't take her Lisinopril." The maid rushes to get some high-pressure medicine for Amy.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" Amy manages to nod, and we slowly make it to the marble staircase. We take it step-by-step until we reach the second floor.

Then a wooden tile creaks under my feet, and I look down. The tile is fine, but underneath the carpet I was about to step on is a mismatched tile that looks like it is a shade too dark for the rest of the house.

It is probably the shadow of the carpet that makes it look darker. Or maybe the tile is a different shade, but that is normal. Wood changes color over time.

I dismiss it and ask Amy for directions to her room. Soon we arrive, and I place her on the bed. The maid comes rushing in with water and medicine.

Amy refuses the medicine, but she drinks the water. "Is she going to be okay?" I ask. "Yes, the doctor said that her overwhelming sadness over her husband has caused her to have severely high BP. She will get better once she rests." I nod, and the maid walks me to the door after I say goodbye to Amy.

I sit in my car for a few seconds before driving to The Pentagon. I will upload this record to the computer and then start looking into Windsor's bank business.

I head to my office once I arrive. I turn the computer on and download the record. I made sure to hear it a couple of times before I turned off the device.

It was only when I leaned back in my chair that I noticed my milk shortage. Ugh, I must have drunk it all during my illegal interviews.

Where can I get more milk in this building? There is a mini-shopping mall, but milk is sold in liters, and I only require a cup. I heard people add milk to their coffee; would that mean that the coffee machine has milk?

Approaching a coffee machine is risky. Can I ask the Starbucks guy at the mini-shopping mall for milk? Nah, that's like admitting you are unwell to a psychiatric hospital. What time is it anyway?

I look up at the wall clock. It screams 3:25 p.m. at me. I missed lunchtime then, which means the cafeteria should be clear. Good, I might grab a doughnut on my way for milk; I only have to figure out how to use the coffee machine.

How hard can that be?

⟺

This is impossible! I have been standing here for 20 minutes trying to understand how this thing works.

I even went as far as googling a coffee machine manual, but this thing is either so old or so broken. No matter how many buttons I press, all it does is peep back at me.

I was just about to give up when someone asked me, "Need help?" I turn around and meet the same hazel eyes I saw at The Chairman's office. Scarlet.

"Oh, hello there. I didn't think anyone was here." I attempt a light laugh to hide my nervousness.

It is such a great situation. If I were already struggling to reach this woman's level of superiority, it would now be impossible, as I am about to expose myself and my milk obsession.

"We just came," she says, patting the top of the coffee machine. "Is this old man giving you any trouble?"

Now she is going to try to help me, and I will have actual reasons to like her. Why can't I dislike people in peace?

"Yeah, I can't seem to understand how it works." She smiles and hits the side of the machine twice.

Suddenly, the crappy thing stops peeping. "This switch is for espresso shots; this one's for double. And this is for milk."

Now, what is my excuse for not wanting coffee? "Thank you"

"Don't mention it." I have nothing against her; I, might as well get my milk and stop avoiding great people because I think their partners are cute.

I fill my thermos with milk and screw the lid tightly. Surprisingly, she doesn't say anything. She just waits for me to finish.

"You seem free; why don't you join me and my friends for a lunch break?" She smiles encouragingly at me, and for a second, I feel like Oliver as I nod nervously.

She takes us to a table made up of six chairs. Two of these chairs are occupied. On the far right is a male in a black shirt; he has dark hair and green eyes.

Harsh green eyes that shine brightly in contrast to his thick eyebrows, full lips, and sharp jawline. He is handsome, but he has this vibe of danger. The silence of a predator is something I am very familiar with in my profession.

Nothing I saw or heard today prepared me for the sight of the handsome stranger seated on the other chair. Just like the first day I saw him, sandy blond hair and cold eyes.

The only difference is that he is wearing a gray suit this time. I freeze on the spot. Did I just walk in on some kind of double date? I sigh and sit one chair away from the dark-haired man.

Scarlet sat next to the handsome stranger.

In an attempt to forget that he exists, I turn to the dark-haired man beside me. Scarlet didn't introduce him. "I am Adeline; it's nice to meet you."

I offer him my hand to shake, but he doesn't even glance at it. "Matheo."

Men. I roll my eyes internally and take my hand back. "I never saw you before, Matheo. Are you new here?" I have met every employee on the first two floors.

Matheo has to be one of the employees on the forbidden ones. "Yes, I have been here for a week."

I am right; he must be on one of the forbidden floors. "Oh, by the way, this is Greyson." Scarlet introduces the blue-eyed man to me. Greyson. It fits him so well.

I nod politely at him, but he doesn't even glance my way. Why are all men so rude? "What were you boys discussing in my absence?" Scarlet asks.

Before Matheo can reply, Greyson cuts in. "I don't remember." He says it is a beat too quick. He presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and makes eye contact with Scarlet. I look away, and instead, I sip some milk.

"So, tell me, Adeline. How is work? If you are allowed to tell me, of course." She is so good at controlling the flow of the conversation. Another thing to add to her long list of talents

"Dead ends everywhere; I can't access most information, and I am running low on patience." This is the only statement that has caught Matheo's attention since we sat down.

"I have as much advantage as a stray cat in this place!" I didn't mean to sound frustrated, but that is exactly what I am. "Don't worry, we all felt this way when we first came here. Right Grey?" She even has a nickname for him.

Greyson turns to her and nods. "Yeah, sure." Is he uninterested in this conversation because I am here? I can sense he has a strong bond with Scarlet, and she doesn't seem to take his indifference personally.

It has to be me. What did I do to you, sir? I am not here to ruin your plans or disturb your work. Why did you turn so rude and entitled once I told you who I am?

Greyson glances up, and our eyes meet. Such intensity these electric eyes own. Such focus, like he is absorbing me in and-

I looked away immediately. What am I doing? You are a disgrace to humanity, Adeline! He has a girlfriend, and she is sitting right across from you!

I try to hide my embarrassment by covering my face with the thermos, sipping milk silently as Scarlet continues speaking. "See, even Grey used to be a stray cat once."

She speaks of him like he is The President himself. "Why don't you share your stray cat experience with us, Sir Ledger?" Matheo helps Scarlet lighten the mood.

Ledger? Could it be...

Oh my god! Greyson Ledger is Oliver's boss. The man who shouldn't know about what I did at The White House. "Nah, Grey doesn't have the physical abilities to be a cat." Scarlet gestures towards him.

"Cats come in all shapes and sizes." Matheo pauses. "And attitudes too." A smirk is displayed on his face, and Greyson raises an eyebrow at him. Matheo just called Greyson entitled, and Scarlet is barely even holding her laugh.

"You are one small cat to talk, Matheo." Greyson balances him with a look even I cannot manage. Only these cold eyes could turn the normal act of staring into a fearful thing. No wonder Oliver is scared sh*tless.

"I am the military's tiger." The way Matheo says it doesn't sound proud or even like he is stating something about himself. It is like he is talking about someone else.

"That is one tiny striped tiger." ledger fires back. Scarlet couldn't hold it anymore and burst out laughing. She seems to enjoy Matheo getting roasted by her boyfriend, but the only thing that caught my attention was what Matheo said.

Military? Does that mean that both Scarlet and Greyson are also military? but Scarlet is an espionage agent.

"Military? You are the first non-civilian I have met since I came here." Scarlet and her boyfriend share a look, but I focus on Matheo, who seems as confused as I feel. "The majority of the workers here are from military bases. How long have you been here?"

"Almost a week now. I am not allowed anywhere from the third floor up. Not even the storage units." Now it is Scarlet's turn to be confused.Though, I have a feeling she already knew.

"What do you investigate, then?" Before I can answer her question, Greyson cuts me off. "That's classified information."

Excuse me? What is classified information? All I know is how Windsor died, and that is already public information.

"Why? Everything is classified anyway; whatever I would say is most likely already known"

"Know your limits, detective. Rules are rules." His calm tone set me off. I wish he had shouted and screamed and threatened me; instead, he is playing the indifferent card. A card only righteous people would use, but he is wrong in every way.

"The chairman didn't say I should keep it a secret!" I don't care if I sound like a whiny baby; I am right!

"I make the rules, and you follow them." The finalization in his voice pisses me off even more. If only he knew what I did at The White House.

The sense of doing something wrong for all the right reasons never sends a rush of satisfaction through me, as it does right now. He will not have a bitch pass because he was blessed with a handsome face.

"It seems you don't know me yet." This is a bold statement. A declaration of involvement in prohibited action. Which I can't deny doing. I stand my ground, though. Stare right back at him.

Challenging him to do what? I am not sure, but I am challenging him nonetheless. Oh, when he finds out what I did. I would do it all over again just to witness him unhinged.

"Maybe I don't want to."A hint of anger haunts his words. It's very faint but it's there and I have never been more proud. I am a harmless person and tend to get on people's good side, but I won't play nice with a jerk like him.

I can see Scarlet's arm reach under the table to touch him. I would rather not know where. A bang of jealousy hits me, but I block it out—too much emotion for one day, let alone waste it on that creature.

Greyson clears his throat after a moment of silent communication between him and his girlfriend. He stands up and buttons his suit jacket. The jacket wraps tightly around his arms, and his big biceps push against the fabric.

I stop breathing altogether to avoid phasing. I refuse to give in to him; I have seen many good-looking guys. I will not crumble because a male visits the gym regularly.

Get it together, Adeline!

"Excuse us." He nods at Matheo and me. I don't acknowledge his politeness. I offered politeness multiple times but was met with cold indifference. Two can play this game.

He motions to Scarlet, and she rises too, looking as apologetic as her boyfriend should feel. "I have no idea what is wrong with him; I am so sorry."

"It's okay; I took nothing personally." I smile at her for once, confident after all that jealousy. I can't believe I was jealous because she had a handsome boyfriend. She can keep him as long as she wants.

Matheo rises too. "I have to go check on my new office. Have a good day." Scarlet bids me goodbye and leaves with her boyfriend.

Now I am left all alone with my cup of milk. I can't help but smile the whole way back to my office. After grabbing the necessary files, I head back to my hotel.