The house felt strange and hollow without its central core.

Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing through the newly exposed doorways.

I walked into Richard’s office.

The room smelled of his expensive sandalwood cologne and the leather of his empty desk chair.

The desk itself was a massive piece of mahogany, but the computer was gone.

He had already moved his digital life to his new apartment downtown.

But Richard was old-fashioned about paperwork; he always kept physical backups of his corporate accounts in the bottom drawer.

I tried the drawer. It was locked.

I looked around the room for something to use.

On the floor near the closet, the movers had left a small crowbar.

I picked it up, jammed the flat edge into the gap above the lock, and threw my weight against it.

The wood splintered with a loud crack.

I pulled the drawer open.

Inside were several thick, black binders labeled *Sterling Media Group – Internal*.

I pulled them out and began flipping through the pages.

There were profit and loss statements, client lists, and retainer agreements.