Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Sighing, I go to the empty desk that stands on the other end and start the tedious task of organizing the invoices and receipts by date and in alphabetical order.
The windowless room is brightly lit, but it smells of dust and appears gloomy. I let my gaze wander over the rows of metal shelves and the cardboard filing boxes stacked to the ceiling.
Why did Mr. Lewis come here on the night of his murder? What did he do in the vault a few minutes before he left the building with a panic button in his hand?
“Get to work,” one of the filing clerks suddenly says in front of me, tapping her nails on my desk. “These papers aren’t going to file themselves.”
I lift my head.
Her face is pulled into a scowl. “We’re going for a tea break.”
The two women leave, slamming the fireproof door behind them.
When the door opens again a short while later, I don’t glance up from my work, expecting it to be them, but someone puts a paper cup on the corner of the desk.
I look from the cup to the person who put it there.
Jasmine stands in front of me with a cocked hip and a similar cup in her hand. “I brought you ginger tea from the coffee shop.” She smiles. “I noticed it’s all that you drink.”
“Thanks,” I say, frowning. “That’s kind of you.”
“You must’ve really pissed Price off. Dishing out filing is her way of punishment.” She wags her eyebrows. “What did you do?”
“Took time off?” I say, not sure if Ms. Price is annoyed about that or about the advance she gave me. Probably both.
Jasmine laughs. “That’ll definitely rub her up the wrong way. She’s all work and no fun.”
“I hope she doesn’t think I’m not serious about my job.”
“She always thinks the worst. You can’t change the way she’s wired.”
That’s the last thing I need.
“Hey.” Jasmine leans closer, bracing a hand on the desk. “Are you and Saverio De Luca really an item?” She straightens. “I mean, words goes around the office, if you know what I mean. Zack saw the two of you leaving here together.”
“Um, yes.”
Pointing a finger at me, she laughs. “You’re a dark horse, Anya. I didn’t think you were into the bad kind of hot guys.”
“Saverio isn’t a bad guy,” I say, not sounding convincing.
“Oh, come on. Everyone knows in which circles he moves.”
My argument is weak. “That doesn’t make him a criminal.”
“If you say so,” she says in singsong voice. “How did the two of you even meet?”
“We ran into each other on the High Line. He went for a jog, and I was getting some air. I’d lost an earring, so he helped me to look for it.”
She stares at me like someone transfixed by a spellbinding story. “Did he find it?”
“Yes. To thank him, I invited him for a drink.”
“Oh my God.” She places a palm on her neck. “I’m going to dress up in tiny shorts and drop an earring on the High Line.” Lowering her voice, she asks in a suggestive tone, “Does he have any single friends?”
My smile is stilted. “If I meet them, I’ll let you know.”
She laughs, pointing at me again. “You do that.”
The filing clerks who return from their break shoot her a hostile look.
“I better go,” she whispers, making a face. “Good luck with the filing. Don’t worry. You won’t be stuck here indefinitely. Tomorrow, Price would’ve forgotten about her grudge, and you’ll be back at your desk.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as she finger-waves before tiptoeing away with a grin that she shoots over her shoulder.
For the next couple of hours, I finish sorting the piles of paper. While I go around the room, looking for the appropriate boxes in which to file them, I scan the shelves and the names of the clients that are printed on the boxes. There’s nothing under Bianchi. I go down the alphabet until I get to L, but there’s no Luigi either. Neither a label for Giorgio nor Saverio. Nothing under De Luca. If there was anything, it may be filed under one of the names of the various companies they own. From what I read, Luigi is the proprietor of several clubs and hotels around the country.
Saverio said Mr. Lewis stole money from them. He didn’t say Mr. Lewis did their books. But I can’t imagine another way of Mr. Lewis getting his hands on mafia money. It would’ve been easier to have access to both the information and the funds if he managed their accounting. In that case, Mr. Lewis may not have kept any records on paper.
“We’re locking up,” one of the clerks says behind me.
I give a start. “I’ll get my bag.”
After tidying the desk, I walk outside to find Kevin waiting for me. The two men who followed us lean on the hood of their car, their eyes shaded by sunglasses. They get into the car when Kevin opens the door for me, and when he turns the car into the road, they follow.