The room upstairs had been many things over the years they’d lived in that house. They’d tried it as a reading room, a spare bedroom, and even briefly entertained the idea of having children and using it as a nursery, but none had excited Morgan in the way this idea did.
It was intimidating too—having a room in the house specifically designed for him to make a profit added a large amount of pressure. It meant he needed those clients fast. It meant keeping himself occupied in ways that went beyond home repairs and household chores. As of this moment, he had a career to embark upon, and this entailed gaining new clients as well as maintaining them. It was an unusual prospect for Morgan; he’d never been much of a bloodsucker when it came to money, and he only needed enough to get by. Creating a consistent wage high enough to keep a roof over their heads was now the low bar. Anything over that was the desired target, at least as far as he imagined Rachel thought.
Morgan approached the room as if he were identifying a corpse. His steps turned slow and cautious as he steadily approached the door, pausing with his hand clasped around the knob. The moment he opened it, his career would be expected to soar into something incredible—something dreams were made of. He knew there was no living up to it, but if he let negativity bring him down, he’d fail for sure. The least he could do was try.
Determined not to lose before he even started, he twisted the knob and let the door creak open, groaning on its hinge while he reached for the light switch. The bulbs in the center of the room flickered to life, and he entered, the dust motes dancing past his eyes while he studied the mess around him. How had they disregarded this room for so long? There were so many uses for it, and only now was his mind brimming with the possibilities.
But it was too late.
As of right now, this was his office.
Morgan set to work immediately, shifting boxes to the corner near the door so he could sort through them later and carry them to the garage. He ducked in and out of the room, grabbing a duster and then heading back for the vacuum before setting to that task. Piece by piece, minute by minute, positivity filled his veins and gave him a second wind. It was like his skin was absorbing hope as the air in the room grew less dusty and putrid. It was clean air now, and it felt right.
By the time he was done, it was starting to look like an office. Morgan stood by the door and envisioned himself as a civilian in need of professional help. He stepped inside as if he were stepping into the office of a private investigator, and asked himself if he would hire somebody here. Then he approached the desk, pulling down the sleeve of his sweater and wiping off a thin trail of dust he’d missed when frantically cleaning the room. This was it, he realized, pulling out the wheeled office chair and lowering himself into it.
This was his new workplace.
It needed some adjustments, there was no doubt—maybe he would shift the desk around so it was facing the window rather than the wall. He tested the mood, switching on the desktop lamp and picturing himself working long hours typing up reports for his clients. This was going to take some getting used to, he was certain, but it felt doable.
If only he could get over Dusty.
His loss still hadn’t quite hit home yet. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he still expected to get a call from his late cousin. He wondered if he might catch sight of him next time he drove down the street. But it was wishful thinking; Dusty was dead. Before Morgan could officially open up for business, he would need to put that behind him, and that could only happen in one of two ways.
Time was one option; he could wait and let it go, hoping his emotions would eventually adjust to a life without his childhood friend. After all, they’d not spoken in years, so how hard could that be? On the other hand, they had bills to pay, and despite their financial desperation, Morgan felt as though researching anything other than what was on his mind would only be a waste of time and resources.
The other option was to give his all in tracking down Dusty’s killer. Gary might have a thing or two to say about it, and the MPD would undoubtedly be against him, but it was the only surefire way of moving on. If and when he solved this case, it would be no problem for him to venture back into the world of private investigation, and they could finally get their bills paid. As long as Rachel had been sincere when she’d said she could be patient. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable.
But deep down he knew; his mind was made up.
Morgan pulled open the desk drawer and reached for a notepad and pen.
It was time to avenge Dusty, and he wouldn’t rest until it was done.