Sam was dead. Hardy was mine now.
I arrived on the nineteenth floor. The layout was exactly the same as the Legal Department, offices along the outer walls, a maze of cubicles in the center. I knew it like the back of my hand. I headed straight for Hardy’s office. I pulled the flashlight from my coat pocket. As usual, his office was a hot mess, papers strewn about and the same two half-empty coffee mugs still sitting on his desk. I was surprised he didn’t have a bug problem in this place. I hustled behind Hardy’s desk and quietly began searching through the drawers. I figured the first drawer must have been his junk drawer until I opened another drawer that was more cluttered than the first.
I pulled open the pencil tray drawer. Inside, an old greeting card. For My Loving Husband on Valentine’s Day. The card, yellowed and frayed along the edges, sported a big red heart on the front. Inside, a small obituary: A Celebration of the Life of June Cavanaugh King. The obituary was adorned with a border of small flowers and a picture of June in the center—a short bob, pearls, and a polite smile. I flipped through it. June and Hardy were childhood sweethearts, no kids, loved traveling, bridge, and fishing. And down at the bottom, a list of the pallbearers included Nate Ashe.
I slipped the obit back inside the card and placed it all back in the drawer. As I did, I noticed the bright glint of metal. I did a double take. There inside Hardy’s desk drawer was the double-flag lapel pin. Hardy was one of the Brethren. But was I really surprised?
I searched through the credenza. Another colossal mess. There was no rhyme or reason to Hardy’s filing system. I quickly flipped through any files marked with the word security in the tab. I was about to move on when I spotted an envelope lying flat in the bottom of the drawer. I shifted a mass of folders and managed to lift the envelope from the drawer. Across the front: “Libertad.” I swept open the envelope. Inside, three burner phones and an ID badge with the name “Littlejohn” on it, probably the same one he’d given to Sam to enter the building. I placed it all back inside the envelope and shoved it in my coat pocket.
A few seconds later, the elevator chimed. My God sense kicked in. I stopped to lean into the sound of footsteps. Slow, heavy, clunky footsteps. I clicked off the flashlight. I left the drawer open and jumped from behind Hardy’s desk and darted across the room, banging my shin against a pile of papers and boxes stacked near his desk. The pain shot up through my leg like a torpedo. I managed to stifle a scream and scrunch behind the office door. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped.
“Ellice, you up here?”
Hardy.
Chapter 41
He’d gotten here faster than I thought he would, but that was okay. There was no need to rush things. I heard his footsteps. Hardy was heading to his office. Every step hitting the floor like a giant drumbeat.
Let’s go, Hardy.
Sweat beaded up along my hairline. He ambled to his office door just as I expected. I heard the elevator chime again. Then, another set of footsteps.
A man’s voice: “Mr. King?”
“Yeah, down here,” Hardy said.
“Mr. King, is everything okay?”
“Are you sure she said she was coming to my office? On Nineteen?”
“That’s what she said. She said you left some paperwork for her and told her to pick it up. And I called you as soon as she showed up in the building, just like you asked me to.”
“Good work, son.”
“Do you want me to flip the override switch and turn on the lights?”
“No. Maybe she went to the Legal Department downstairs. Check Rudy Clifton’s office,” Hardy said.
“Yes, sir.” I could hear the chunky guard from the lobby scamper down the hall, his utility belt with flashlight and keys jangling against the flab of his waistline. I peeped through the crack between the door and the wall. Hardy’s hulking silhouette stood just outside the door. He rolled inside his office and gave a quick scan across the room. He was just a few feet away from me now. Only a couple inches of wood stood between me and the man who had murdered my brother.
Just be patient.
Sweat rolled down the middle of my back underneath the parka and turtleneck. My head was fuzzy, like I would pass out. I held my breath. I tried not to move.
He was unusually quiet. I peeked again. Hardy stood in the center of the office this time.
Even in the dim lighting, I could see the quizzical expression on his face as he studied the mass of clutter across the room. And then, he spotted the open drawer.
He lumbered over to the credenza and plopped down in his chair with a thud. He flipped on a desk lamp and twisted his bulky frame toward the open drawer. He peered inside and spied the gap left by the missing envelope. I watched as he rifled through the files, desperately searching.