Chapter 8 - The Boxes
Ruiz made three calls before we reached the club.
Uniformed officers were already at the loading dock when Ruth pulled up.
Vincent had authorized them to enter the areas controlled by the club.
Evelyn was sorting out what that consent covered.
Ruiz was seeking the additional authority he needed.
For once, nobody asked me to trust a promise.
They were doing things I could see.
The disposal truck’s driver stood beside his cab, furious and confused.
“I have an order.
That’s all.”
The club manager, Malcolm Reed, came through the loading door.
“This is private property.”
Vincent stepped out behind us.
“Yes,” he said.
“It is.”
Malcolm lost color.
I recognized the archive box on the truck.
Number 18.
Blue stripe.
Kitchen accounts and property reimbursements.
An officer stopped me before I could climb up.
“We’ll retrieve it.”
Inside were menus.
Hundreds of old menus.
No ledgers.
Mateo swore softly.
Malcolm spread his hands.
“You’ve created a scene over restaurant trash.”
Ruiz looked at the box.
“Where were the contents stored before today?”
“In the basement.”
“Show us.”
The archive room smelled like damp cardboard.
Empty shelves lined one wall.
Fresh scrape marks crossed the floor.
Someone had removed the ledgers before loading the boxes.
My stomach dropped.
Then June called.
I stepped into the hallway.
“I went home for my charger,” she said.
“You were supposed to wait.”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
“My apartment’s been searched.”
For a second, I couldn’t hear anything except the blood rushing in my ears.
“Are you safe?”
“I’m outside.
Police are coming.”
“June, I’m sorry.”
“Stop.
Listen to me.”
Her voice shook, but it stayed firm.
“They took your canvas bag.”
The notebooks.
Mom’s recorder.
The original letter.
I pressed my forehead against the cold wall.
We had copies.
Ruiz had recordings.
Dana had scans.
But those things had belonged to my mother.
“They took everything?”
A long silence.
Then June said, “They left something.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
My mouth went dry.
“Of what?”
“You leaving my building this morning.”
I looked back toward the archive room.
Vincent was staring at the empty shelves.
May you like
His money could buy the building.
It couldn’t undo what we had just lost.
