• highest ranking | #47 in mystery/thriller
Trinity Academy is a school for social elites and high-class nobles, therefore it is rather convenient to have a social ladder within the premises. In the middle of the food chain, is Isla Reynolds...
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P.I MARC KENNETH IS A greying old man, with an out of fashion bowtie and a belly that strangely makes him look pregnant. Considering the amount of money he probably has, his clothes hardly present them well: they look like rags bought out of a charity shop. But take one step in his office, and you'll be greeted with greatness.
His office is big and modern, bookshelves lining up the walls and a mahogany desk placed at the centre of the whole room. The room is bright and schemed with brown and white colours, his curtains cast aside to reveal the starry night New York has to offer. Compared to her ceiling of stars, it is just as beautiful looking out of a window, and what makes it even better is that it is real.
Isla got here so fast she was left slightly restless from her own impatience. They close at seven but she had offered Marc Kenneth an addition of money that he couldn't refuse; she hopes that he'll invest in a new wardrobe with all the money she is giving him. His office presents a young, charming and handsome man while he presents an old buffoon with an ageing bowtie.
Her eyes skim the rest of the office: it id dark out, but the room looked like the sun is seeping through the curtains. There is light everywhere, in golden rays, and once she approaches his desk she notices something.
The desk is assigned to a 'GREGORY FITCH' now that, made a lot more sense. Marc Kenneth's office is probably old and dusty and had an earth globe sitting right at the centre of his desk. Definitely. Isla could have snickered if it wasn't for the unbarring silence and whooshing in her stomach that made her excited to see what Marc has to offer.
She plops down in the seat that is opposite Marc's without invitation, as he shuffles through the papers he held in his hands, his glasses tipping off the bridge of his nose. The chair is made of brown velvet and her back feels relaxed leaning onto it. Since she's been here, Marc has hardly said a word to her but invite her into the office. She figures she has tired him out throughout the whole day.
But damn, will that paycheck be worth it.
"Right," Marc begins in a firm tone, making his way around the desk and into the chair opposite hers. "I've been tracking Drystan's license in the afternoon, and at two forty-five, his car was parked outside of Jessica Langoria's house."
Her stomach drops.
Marc is shuffling the papers in his hands, putting them in order--Isla watches with wide eyes and a beating heart--and then he places them before her. "These pictures vary from two forty-five to five o'clock."
God, those aren't papers. Those are pictures and there are so many.
Isla closes her eyes and puts her chin up. "I don't want to look just yet."
