The investigator arrived late that afternoon, his presence a quiet disruption to the household’s routine.
He was a man accustomed to shadows, his demeanor calm and assured.
I led him to my office, closing the door behind us.
He handed me a slim folder, its weight more psychological than physical.
“It’s all in there,” he said, his voice even.
My hands hesitated over the folder, the moment stretching between us.
“Anything I should know before I read this?”
He paused, considering his words carefully.
“There’s more than meets the eye, but nothing conclusive yet.”
I nodded, opening the folder slowly.
Photographs and detailed notes filled the pages, each document a piece of a puzzle still unsolved.
Her background check was clean, almost too clean.
Yet there were discrepancies, small anomalies that prickled at the edges of my awareness.
“What do you make of these?” I asked, sliding a photo across the desk.
He leaned forward, his gaze steady.
“She’s careful, I’ll give her that. But people like her… they slip eventually.”
His words hung heavy in the air, a promise or a warning, I couldn’t tell.
I closed the folder, the weight of it now a shared burden.
The investigator stood to leave, his presence as unobtrusive as his arrival.
As he reached the door, he turned back to me.
“I’ll keep digging. Let me know if anything changes.”
“I will,” I replied, my voice carrying the uncertainty I couldn’t shake.
After he left, I sank into my chair, the office suddenly too quiet.
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