"Earlier this week, a bank robbery was committed in the heart of downtown Manhattan-" his ears perked up, glancing at the TV hanging above the mantle, grabbing the remote from his side and using it to turn up the volume "At first it was expected that under 25 000 dollars had been taken, but it was only later they discovered that the safe had been emptied without any knowledge by staff of an intruder on the premises" The blonde's face was hard and unfeeling as she sat, staring at the camera with a ferocity. Why do you care? it wasn't your money.
"The total stolen has now risen to almost half a million dollars. Police are investigating the crime diligently, but they have yet to reveal if any leads are being generated or if there are any suspects" He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his office chair. There are no leads, and there certainly wouldn't be any, he knew that.
"Police are reviewing the footage from CCTV cameras within the bank and in the surrounding area to attempt identification of the conspirators behind the robbery-"
Multiple stills of existing footage fluttered over the screen, too grainy to be of any use.
The figures within the pixels were so unidentifiable that they could have been Bigfoot and his extended family. But, he knew who they were, he had been the one to direct them. He was surprised he hadn't heard the results of Kremlin on the news earlier, but he knew why he hadn't. Banks are an institution that can't exist without the trust of its customers about their money's safety and security. The heist had been an embarrassment to them, no doubt they paid the papers a pretty penny to hold off even this long on reporting the incident to the public. After all, the shareholders were the top priority, not their customers.
Somewhere, in some room, a corporate fat cat is ripping his hair out. He smiled at that thought, reaching for his glass of whiskey and taking a good swig of it. He clicked his tongue, taking in the burn of the liquid down his throat. Everything had been successful, it had gone off perfectly just like every single time he played the strategist role. There was no one better than him for that role, he knew that, leaning back in his chair. He held the glass half empty in his hand with his arm stretched out, looking through the glass as it glinted with the light above in its crevices. The whiskey morphed into the color of honey, rather than the shade of dried, dirty blood.
He was still angry, still annoyed. He should have been happy, but he wasn't, and although he didn't want to acknowledge it, he knew why. The last week, the girl had been silent. No longer did he wake up to her mumbled singing through the wall, she hadn't even tried to contact him through the monitor speaker in days, and the last time had only been to apologize for accidentally getting maple syrup from her pancakes on the carpet. The talkative little bird had stopped tweeting.
Every time he had glanced at the monitor the last few hours, what he saw had been the same, her laying in bed, the blanket covering her head and her hair splayed like a fan across the pillows. She faced away from the camera, so he couldn't tell if she was just laying or sleeping. She had been in bed a lot the last few days, it was getting excessive and found himself frustrated by it. Although he shouldn't have given a single fuck about her, he knew in his gut that something was wrong, but he wasn't going to ask her about it. Her happiness wasn't his problem, it wasn't even on his radar. A few knocks on the open office door had him turning, expecting Lancy, but to his surprise it was Spike. His spiked blonde hair faded out and his eyeliner dark.
"I thought you would want to see this" he stepped into the room, holding a thin manilla envelope. Max raised an eyebrow curiously, leaning forward in his chair to grab the envelope, opening it up to sight the few existing papers inside, shitty photocopies of handwritten statements. It was pieces of a police report "Stacy sent it over from the 93" Max sighed heavily, rubbing his temples, grabbing the reading glasses from the drawer next to him, and flipping across the papers for himself.
YOU ARE READING
His Angel
Romance"You have a name, don't you?" his voice was deep and irritable, but rather calm. Her eyes lifted just slightly, now staring at the edges of dark hair that hung an inch or two from his shoulders. Her lack of answer seemed to annoy him further, she co...
