|| Secret Lies ||

Chapter Eight

Claudius hummed quietly, thick and chilled paper sliding across his knuckles as he danced an ace around his fingers. Heat chewed at his collar as the flames crackling behind him curled violently, fluttering in the fireplace.

With a great, bored sigh, he slid the card to the pile already strewn across his mess of a desk, cursing softly as a massive stack fluttered to the ground. Every time he had meetings, he told himself he'd clean up for good.

Like always, he'd cleared his desk and shoveled the papers behind it so no one could see.

He should clean it.

You're just waiting until Pup comes back. Might as well. Need to be presentable for the meeting.

Fine.

There were scraps all over the floor. Heaving himself from his chair, antsy, and irritation starting to prick across his back, he headed to the front of the desk. Kneeling on the lavish rug before his desk he slowly scraped up the papers, shoveling them back atop the thick mahogany. The downy fibers of his rug brushed against his hands and he paused, running his hands across the dragon pattern and pushing his fingers into the roses lining the outside, finally tracing the thick tassels on the end.

An annoyed grunt slipped his lips as he caught his fingers on a clumped part and realized someone had bled on his nice rug.

He combed it out, shaking out his hands and wiping them off as he wandered back behind his desk, absently musing. The elegant wallpaper, a dark muted green, glinted in the firelight and the low shine from his chandeliers. The cases of guns on the walls shone, the glass clear as air from all the cleaning he'd done to prepare for the meeting. Claudius grunted, sitting back down and reluctantly starting to shuffle through the papers. He haphazardly scanned them, humming with boredom.

Joy Ranch... talk to nick... call mom.. He winced, throwing out the paper. Sorry, Mom.

'URGENT' blurred across his eyes in huge letters at the very top of a pile, and he picked it up, curious.

The seal of the police department covered the paper and he paused, scanning the precinct number. 77. He cursed out loud, reading further.

'Judge,

They know you're the boss.'

He read it over and over again, faster and faster, words burning into his brain. Claudius slumped in his chair, heart hammering and he let the paper fall, chest heaving.

He lunged up with a start, walking absently to the door, words mocking him, tearing up every single damn thing he'd worked for, every damn thing he'd bled for.

No.

Shoving open the great double doors, he roved his eyes until they landed on Bella, his secretary.

"When..." the words stuck in his mouth, rage rising," When did I get a message from Precinct 77?"

She looked up, startled, "Uh, about... two days ago, sir."

He ran his hands through his hair, gritting his teeth fiercely.

"Get me a copy of that damn newspaper. The Daily. Today's edition. If you skip out on the tabloids, so help me God-"

"Of course!" she squeaked, hurrying up and practically scampering away, and he sighed, surprised fire wasn't pouring from his ears. Claudius stormed back into the office, uncaring about the wide open doors, eager to get back to the desk and his phones.

His chair welcomed him with open arms as he rifled through his drawers for a cigarette, hands shaking. Fingers closing around a pack and finding a lighter buried deep in the drawer with a sigh that sounded more like a hiss, he eagerly lit up and sat there, in stony silence, for as long as he could stand. The rest of the papers on his desk he just shoveled in a drawer, no longer in the mood to clean.