Page 35 of Bishop

I stalk to the filing cabinet and open the top drawer, my heart dropping at the tightly compacted papers crammed into haphazard files. Not that I expected him to have a folder clearly marked ‘leverage,’ but I’d hoped for something more organized than this.

I grab a chunk of documents and dump them on his desk, spreading out bills, employment records, and contracts. There’s nothing of use. No contact information. No paper trail of the work I’ve done.

I return to the cabinet for another pile, dumping them on top of the last, scattering papers far and wide. I do a visual scan of letterheads, finding business logo after business logo. But nothing I need.

Shit. I grab another pile and another. Scattering. Searching. Panicking.

The door opens with Bishop on the other side. “What are you doing?”

I yank open the second drawer, finding another tightly compacted paper tornado. My father must have kept his important business elsewhere. There has to be another cabinet.

I rush to his desk drawers, removing the first from its tracks to tip the contents onto my growing trash pile. Pens, paperclips, and Post-its fall like rain. I do the same with the second drawer. Then I struggle to dislodge the larger third drawer.

I tug. Pull. Yank.

Every time I fail to lift the heavy weight from the tracks, it acts like a meaty stab into my flailing composure.

My face flames hot, my forehead growing slick with sweat.

Emmanuel blackmailed hundreds of powerful people. Where did he put all that leverage? Where is it kept if not in the office that was out of bounds to his own family?

“What are you looking for?” Bishop approaches.

I release the drawer, standing tall as I glare at him. “I’m looking for you to get the hell out of my house.” My voice breaks, the outward fragility compounding my growing instability. I can’t lose my shit. Not now… But my throat burns. My chest, too.

He stops at the opposite side of the desk, disregarding my request for the millionth time as he scrutinizes me. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m not okay. Apparently, my father is dead, my mother is MIA, and my brothers betrayed me.”

Nobody understands what my father’s death means.

I can’t even think about it myself. I won’t. Not when the threat of a panic attack nips at my heels. I refuse to fall victim in front of Bishop.

“Your brothers did what was necessary.” He holds my gaze, unapologetic in his callousness. “Your father was a son of a bitch.”

My throat burns hotter, the rampant beat inside my chest thrumming through every vein. I snatch the metal letter opener from beneath the pile of paperwork and picture myself stabbing it under his perfectly defined jaw. “Necessary?”

“Yes.” His attention dips to my weapon for a second of dismissive appraisal. “Your brothers filled me in on your financial situation.”

I snap rigid.

“I know Emmanuel treated you like slaves,” he continues. “You were given a meagre cash allowance, and although the credit cards were more easily used, they were heavily monitored to make sure you didn’t try to leave. He had you trapped.” He guides a hand over the mess on the table, moving the top pages to look at those underneath. “So if you’re searching for financial statements or certain bank details, tell me. I can help.”

My palm aches from my tight grip around the letter opener.

He thinks I’m scavenging for money? That I have a one-track mind focused on how to bankroll my future after learning of my father’s passing?

I’d laugh if I didn’t think it would be the catalyst for a breakdown.

“I’m so glad you’re well informed.” I talk slow. Measured. “And that you’ve already got me pegged. Not only am I a drama queen, but yes, I’m exceptionally greedy. All I want is access to the riches I’m owed.”

“I didn’t say that,” he grates. “I was only trying to let you know I understand.”

“You, and my brothers, understand nothing. The relationship I had with my father wasn’t the same as theirs.”

“So you mourn his death?”

“Yes.” In so many ways. I grieve what should have been and what I may never get back. My father was the cornerstone of our family. Everything we did, had, or were, was due to him.

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