Then, from somewhere deep in the house, we heard a dull thud.

It came from the direction of the study.

Nathan looked at me, his eyes dark with determination.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered.

I nodded, my hand gripping the keycard in my pocket.

We walked quietly across the marble floor, our wet shoes squeaking softly.

The door to the study was ajar, a sliver of light spilling out onto the hallway floor.

Nathan reached out and pushed the door open.

The room was in disarray.

Drawers had been pulled out, their contents spilled across the oriental rug.

A heavy metal safe in the corner stood open, empty hanging folders scattered around it.

But Richard was not there.

Nathan walked over to the desk, picking up a discarded paper.

“He’s already been through here,” Nathan said.

I looked toward the bookshelf on the far wall, remembering what Mr. Hayes had said.

“Nathan,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“He’s not looking in the study.”

“He’s downstairs.”

Nathan looked at me, confusion crossing his face.

“The basement?” he asked. “There’s nothing down there but storage.”