I turned off my headlights and quieted my own engine.

I grabbed the heavy metal flashlight from Evelyn’s glove compartment.

The kitchen door was propped open with a wooden crate.

I crept inside, the smell of old grease and stale dishwater filling my nose.

The dining room was dark, but a faint light flickered from the back office.

I walked silently across the linoleum floor of the kitchen.

I reached the hallway leading to the office.

The door was slightly ajar, casting a long sliver of yellow light onto the floor.

I heard the sound of paper ripping.

Then, a loud crash.

“Where is it?” a voice muttered. It was Gavin.

I peeked through the crack in the door.

The office was in shambles.

Files were scattered across the floor, and the desk drawers had been ripped out.

Gavin was kneeling by the small floor safe, his shirt untucked and his hair disheveled.

He had a crowbar in his hand.

Beside him was a large canvas duffel bag, already bulging with papers.

He struck the safe dial with the crowbar, a loud metallic clang echoing through the quiet restaurant.