I stared out the car window at the barren hills punctuated by the occasional strip mall as Alex drove us back towards LA. “I need to search those file cabinets.”
“No,” Alex said.
“What do you mean, no? You heard him. We need evidence that doesn’t require my testimony. That’s lawyer-speak for documents.”
“Then let me look for them.”
“Oh yeah, that won’t be suspicious. When have you ever combed through Igor’s files? It’s what I do, Alex. I’m his lawyer.”
Alex spied the cop’s car up ahead and slowed down to the speed limit. “Not the ones in the file cabinets. They’re locked.”
“I found the key.”
“When?”
“A while ago.” I didn’t tell Alex I’d already snooped once because I knew he’d get angry.
Alex’s jaw clenched and he shook his head. “Grace, you need to listen to me. I will find a way to get Roberto what he needs. I do not want you taking unnecessary risks.”
“Fine,” I said. “No unnecessary risks.” Alex and I just had different definitions of the word “unnecessary.”
I couldn’t go to the gallery over the weekend because Igor knew I took the kids to Santa Veneta every weekend to see their mother. But snooping on a weekday was dangerous because I never knew when Igor or one of his men might show up. I needed a time when no one else would be there and the only time I could think of was a Thursday night.
I’d finally gotten Alex to tell me why Igor cancelling plans on a Thursday night was such a big deal. Every Thursday night Igor’s wife Ekaterina went out with her girlfriends, all young Russian women who’d married older rich men too. On Thursday nights Igor’s crew gathered at his house for a night of debauchery. I’d asked Alex if that meant prostitutes too or if it was only drugs and alcohol. He pled the fifth.
Since Alex told me he always went to these parties, I assumed he’d be there this Thursday night too. I was shocked when he walked into the house while the kids and I were eating dinner.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, as he sat down next to MJ at the kitchen table.
“I live here, remember,” Alex said.
Sofia giggled. She was obviously happy to have Alex home since she was grinning ear to ear. MJ was just as obviously not happy to have Alex home. He stared down at his plate and stabbed at his lasagna with his fork.
“Isn’t there somewhere you’re supposed to be tonight?” I said and gave Alex a meaningful look.
“I cancelled,” he said and sniffed at the lasagna pan sitting in the center of the table. “Smells good. Can I have some?”
I couldn’t take credit for the meal since I’d picked it up at the grocery store on the way home. All I’d had to do was heat it up. “Sure. Plates are in the cabinet and silverware is in the drawer.”
MJ snickered and Alex shot him a warning glance. But he did retrieve his own plate and utensils, along with a beer. And I served him a slice of lasagna.
I waited until the kids finished eating and left the table before I brought up Igor again. “I think you should go to the party. We don’t want Igor getting suspicious.”
“He’s not,” Alex said. “And I’m tired.”
He looked tired. He had the same dark circles under his eyes I had under mine, except I covered mine with makeup. The stress was taking a toll on both of us.
Alex swigged the rest of his beer and set the bottle down on the table. “I just want to stay home and watch the game tonight, if that’s alright with you.”
“Fine,” I said. “I won’t be here anyway. I’m meeting my brother-in-law for a drink.” It was the first lie that popped into my head. “I’ll probably be home late.”
“You can come home whenever you want. You don’t have a curfew.”
“I know. I just didn’t want you to worry.”
Alex stared at me. “Why would I worry?”
“No reason.”
I stood up to clear the dishes. When I reached across the table for Alex’s plate, he grabbed my wrist. “Are you lying to me?”
“No,” I said, pulling my hand away. “Why would I lie?”
I’d become such an accomplished liar these past few months that he believed me.
The gallery was dark when I arrived, but the motion sensor lights turned on as I approached the front door. I wasn’t concerned since I knew they’d turn off again once I was inside. I unlocked the door, shut off the alarm, and headed to my office. For once I was grateful there were no windows. It meant I could turn on all the lights and no one outside the building would be able to see.
I dumped out the container of paperclips onto my desk and plucked the key ring from the pile. Then I unlocked the first file cabinet and got to work.
Hours later I’d still found nothing, or at least nothing that was going to put Igor in prison for the rest of his life. I’d spread out the contents of the first two file cabinets on the rug because there was way too much paper for me to sort through it all on my desk. I’d organized the documents into piles. There were invoices, bills of sale, receipts for everything from artwork to toilet paper, tax returns, and ledgers, which might or might not be useful depending on whether they were accurate. But there was nothing that jumped out at me as a smoking gun. I finally decided to just start photographing everything. I’d send it all to Agent Diaz and let him sort it out. The FBI probably employed an army of forensic accountants whose job it was to comb through financial documents.
It was almost midnight when I stood up to stretch and get myself more coffee. After a bathroom break, I returned to the office and knelt down on the rug again. I finished sorting the pile I’d been working on and as I spun around to grab another stack of paper, I accidentally knocked over my coffee cup.
“Fuck!” The brown liquid was spreading everywhere.
I ran back to the kitchen, grabbed the roll of paper towels, and hurried back to my office. The documents were my priority so I saved them first. Some of the ink had blurred on a few of the pages, but the vast majority of them were still readable even through the coffee stains. When I’d sopped up all the liquid, I went back to the kitchen for a sponge and dish soap. I didn’t know if the oriental rug was valuable or just a cheap knock off, but either way I needed to get rid of the giant coffee stain because I didn’t want to have to explain how it got there.
I moved the piles of documents to the couch then I got down on my hands and knees and started scrubbing. I was working on a particularly stubborn spot when I first felt it. I’d been kneeling on this rug for hours. The cement floor underneath was hard and flat, yet this section had an indentation.
I sat back on my butt and ran my hand over the spot. All I felt was damp wool. But when I got back up onto my knees again, I felt something uneven underneath me. Either the cement floor under the rug was cracked, which was possible since this was earthquake country, or there was something underneath.
I tried rolling up the rug from the side closest to the couch, but I couldn’t get it back far enough to reach the uneven spot. The only way to get to it would be to move my desk. I closed my eyes and sighed. It was late, I was tired, and it was probably nothing anyway, but I’d come too far to quit now.
After a fair amount of swearing, I was eventually able to move the heavy desk far enough back that I could roll up the rug.
“Holy shit!”
I reached for my phone. Agent Diaz definitely needed to see this.