Page 42 of Judas

She heard Judas' voice in her ear"Ahavah… listen to me. Something doesn't fit…"

The lonesome hole in her heart grew bigger but she forced herself to turn off those feelings for the moment. He was accusing Chet,Uncle Chet, of something so horrible, something so distasteful and unbelievably vile as murder; or rather, attempted murder. Eliza, more than anyone, knew the dangersof accusing someone with the presumption of guilt. For the last five years of her career, she had been trying to bring justice to the wrongfully convicted. She witnessed firsthand the gates of socioeconomic and racial inequity closing on those most disadvantaged. Judas, of all people, should know what that's like.

The words she said to him.Traitor.There was nothing more hurtful that she could possibly say to him… but…

How dare he.

How dare… he.

He. He, who?

The confusion set in. Her extremities tingled with exhaustion and she knew she would need to get some rest at some point today or her body would give out. The tiny cat naps she was able to sneak in were wearing off fast.

He, who?

Dark thoughts were oozing their way through her mind as she contemplated the question. Inky, oily sediments drifted to the surface and spread like wet, dirty silk. She couldn’t fight the images of her father and his repugnant behavior. Closing her eyes, she dropped her father’s hand. In her mind, she watched Paul grope Georgia in a room full of people. She heard his words echo in her head and a mist of conspiracy lurked over all of it.

Had Uncle Chet grown tired of his behavior? If that were so, there must have been an argument. There was no way that he wouldn’t have tried to talk sense to her father. Uncle Chet was the calmest, kindest person she knew. Nothing ruffled his feathers, not even in a courtroom. He was the polar opposite of her father. If he had done this, there was no doubt it was hard earned by her father.

"Ahavah… listen to me. Something doesn't fit…"Judas’ words echoed in her ears again.

Eliza’s lids slowly opened as she rose from her seat next to her father’s bed. She knew what she had to do. Throwing her small purse over her shoulder, she marched out of the room and didn’t look back.

Chapter twenty-nine

Eliza's stop at her apartment was a short one. It took her a mere thirty minutes to shower, refresh, and dress in some clean clothes. And for the first time in a long time, she really didn’t care about what she was wearing or where she was wearing it. Her black slim-cut jeans, boots, and T-shirt would be just fine. After spinning her blonde locks into a bun on the top of her head, she was out of the door and back in her car.

For the full twenty-five-minute drive to her father's office, she contemplated what she would say to everyone once inside. Eliza didn’t think she could do all the small talk, but she knew everyone would want the details on Paul's condition and how she was doing with all of it. She knew in her bones what she wanted to say or rather what she didn't. She didn’t want to speak with anyone. Eliza was on a mission to find out why her father was shot and who did it. The repetitive, inane questions about anything else were useless to her. Familiar streets and buildings passed by in a swirl as she considered that she could not truly disregard anyone's concern. She would placate everyone withphrases like "He's doing well" and "Oh, I'm hanging in there" when in reality she was still deciding whether she would scream or cry at any moment. With any luck, she’d arrive after everyone had left for the day.

It was nearing five o'clock when she stepped off the elevator and into the familiar surroundings of Arthur and Branson. She made a quick note that Lydia wasn’t at her desk, a blessing, but it meant the older woman was probably doing her nightly walk-through before she locked up for the night. Eliza slipped down the hall and into her uncle's office without a sound, slumping against the large oak door. She stood in agonizing silence for what seemed like ten minutes before she heard Lydia's sweet hum stride past the office where Eliza was concealed and back to the front. She opened the large door just a crack to peek out into the dimly lit hallway and heard the secretary's key turn the outside lock. Eliza waited another few minutes before deciding she was indeed all alone and crossing the hallway to her father's office.

Sorrow and dread hit her in the chest as the enormous door swung to reveal her dad's sanctuary. Cards and notes covered the tops of his tables and desk. Eliza peeked at a few of the names, noticing they were from employees or clients. The get-well wishes burned Eliza's heart. Judas was wrong about Uncle Chet and he's wrong about her father. Sure, Paul Lindsey Arthur was as difficult as a colic, sleep-deprived baby, but he didn't do anything to deserve this. No one deserved to be shot in their own home.

Eliza jostled the mouse next to Paul's laptop and the screen sprang to life. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard because she didn’t know where to start as she stared at his desktop files. She rolled her eyes in consternation at the sheer volume and general chaos of Paul's filing system. After scanning the fifty or so small icons, she located his banking records and openedthem. She spent the better part of two hours skimming each line item going back three years. It was only when she saw an electronic transfer of funds that she stopped searching.

"Transfer to nine-seven-two-nine," she muses. "What is nine-seven-two-nine?"

Eliza shook her head and closed the file not knowing if it was significant or not. She moved on with her task of picking apart her father's life, electronically, until her neck was stiff and her eyes burned. When she finally scrolled to the bottom of the extensive list, she opened a file labeledPrivileged. She double-clicked the file and to her surprise, a password lock popped on the screen.

"Seriously, Dad? Anyone can open this computer up and get any information you have and this file is protected?" she scoffed to the empty room. "Whatever."

Eliza poked the keys, plugging in Paul's password.

Access denied.

She frowned, trying again; it's possible with everything that's happened in the last few days she’d forgotten her own birthdate.

Access denied; one try remaining.

"What the hell?" Eliza huffed out a breath and stared at the flashing box on the screen. Her dad had used the same basic password for as long as she could remember, why was this one different? She sat back in the large leather chair. All evening she’d clicked through, scrubbing every single file Paul had and it made her wonder what was so damn important that this one had to be locked. Her fingers hovered over the keys again when something in her brain clicked. She typed in four numbers. Nine-seven-two-nine.

Access granted.

What Eliza opened was difficult to make out even though she recognized it as a banking spreadsheet. At first glance, it looked like a private account that her father seemed to havemade sporadic payments into every several months. Nothing too large, usually a couple of hundred dollars each time, with larger deposits of one thousand dollars a couple times a year. It also looked like an interest bearing account and Eliza is mildly impressed with the rate it had . She scrolled through each sheet but didn't find any abnormalities.

Still confused as to why the account was locked, it was when she clicked on page number ten, that she found a note that drew her attention.

"Withdraw for four-thousand, five-hundred dollars paid to Dra," the crease between her brow deepened. "Who is Dra?"

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