How My Arranged Marriage to a Comatose Heir Exposed a Family Conspiracy
It was locked.
I looked around the empty hallway.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the brass key Ethan had described, which I had found hidden behind the small landscape painting near his door.
I inserted the key into the lock.
It turned with a soft, heavy click.
I slipped inside the dark room, closing the door quietly behind me.
The air smelled of old paper, leather, and cedar.
I walked quickly to the massive mahogany desk in the center of the room.
My hands shook as I opened the deep bottom drawer on the right side.
I felt along the wooden base, pressing hard near the back corners just as he had instructed.
A small latch clicked, and a false bottom popped up a fraction of an inch.
Underneath lay a thick, dust-covered blue folder.
I pulled it out and opened it, my eyes straining to read the documents in the dim light.
Suddenly, the brass doorknob jiggled.
I froze, holding the papers to my chest.
The lock turned.
The study door began to swing open.