Caden reached his office. A small metal plaque etched with the words “Caden Flynn, Private Investigator” hung from the door.
He unlocked the door and entered his office. To his surprise a stocky man, dressed in a black suit and tie, already inside. The man had short, groomed black hair, and an obsessively well-trimmed beard. He sat in the chair in front of Caden’s desk, legs crossed, sipping from a glass what looked like whiskey, or maybe scotch. Despite his immaculate appearance, the man’s presence nauseated Caden, threatening to bring up his lunch.
“Hello, Mr. Flynn,” said the man. He spoke with a gruff, British accent.
“Who are you and how the hell did you get in?” Caden said.
“Call me Alastair. Door was unlocked. Let myself in,” he said, taking a sip from his glass. “I thought we might have a word.”
“Uh huh.” Caden walked to the chair behind his desk, never taking his eyes of Alastair. He doubted the honesty of the man’s words, knowing full well he’d locked his office last time he left. “Well, Alastair. I’m meeting a client here in twenty minutes. Maybe you could come back later, or not at all.” He removed his coat, hanging it over the back of his chair.
“Your client Mr. Fleming won’t be making it. I let him know his wife ran away to Rio with his brother. Sent him some very convincing and intimate photos. Case solved.”
“You what?” Caden said.
Angel Fall Chronicles 