Nick Grayson: The Truth in the Lies

Chapter 3

Emily's apartment was a large apartment building with a New Orleans flair on Chartres Street. Its facade was a charming blend of brick, stucco, and wood, adorned with intricately designed ironwork balconies that extended like graceful arms from the structure. Nick stepped up an iron-wrought staircase to the second-floor, making his way to apartment 2C. He drummed the shave and a haircut knock on the door.

Emily's frightened voice called out from the other side, "Who is it?"

"It's Nick."

He heard three distinct clicks at Emily undid the locks holding the door closed. Those clear blue eyes beamed out at him from under the halo of her golden hair, and he almost lost his concentration.

Emily answered the door in a pastel blue silk robe, cinched loosely at the waist. The robe, delicate and feminine, contrasted starkly with the disarray behind her. Her hair, usually perfectly styled, was slightly tousled, adding to the air of vulnerability. The soft fabric of the robe clung to her form, the light blue color enhancing her facade of innocence. But there was a tension in her eyes and a slight tremble in her hands as she let Nick in, revealing the true extent of the turmoil she was facing.

Nick surveilled the chaos that had once been Emily's apartment. Her New Orleans French-style apartment, usually a sanctuary of elegance and charm, now looked like a hurricane had blown through. The apartment had an open layout, with tall windows draped in soft, sheer curtains that normally let in the warm afternoon light. Now, those curtains were torn, hanging askew from their rods. The wooden floors, once polished to a gleam, were now littered with overturned furniture and scattered belongings.

The living room, which flowed seamlessly into a quaint kitchen, was incomplete disarray. The plush, cream-colored sofa had been upended, its cushions strewn across the floor. A delicate chandelier, a centerpiece of the room, swung gently, disturbed from its usual stillness. Bookshelves had been emptied, their contents dumped unceremoniously into piles. Glass from a shattered mirror crunched under Nick's feet as he carefully made his way through the wreckage. In the kitchen, cabinets had been flung open, dishes and utensils scattered about, and the refrigerator door hung ajar, its contents spilled onto the floor.

Nick glanced towards the bedroom, where the destruction continued. The bed was stripped of its linens, and the mattress had been flipped. Clothes were pulled from the closet and dresser, now a chaotic heap in the center of the room. Drawers had been yanked out and emptied, their contents mingling with the rest of the mess. The apartment, once a picture of serene beauty, now mirrored the turmoil Emily felt, the violation of her personal space evident in every corner.

"Quite a job they did here," Nick remarked.

Emily nodded. "I was only gone for a few hours."

"That's time enough," Nick surmised. He pulled the iPhone from his pocket and held it up. "I imagine this is what they were looking for?"

"It has to be," Emily affirmed. "Nothing is missing. No jewelry, no money. I don't keep a lot of valuables around."

Stuffing the phone back in his pocket, Nick said, "Then the only question is, who did this?"

Emily didn't reply. She only shook her head.

"Come on," Nick prodded. "Think. Did you see anyone following you around the last couple days? Anybody suspicious? Receive any suspicious phone calls, anything like that?'

"No," Emily said. "If it was anyone, it was probably Razor and his goons."

"Razor know where you live?"