The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(136)

"And positively genius!" I hurried into the office like a crazy mathematician off to chart out his next thirty-page equation on an old dusty chalkboard.

Zo? warily pulled herself off the couch and followed after me. Most likely just to make sure I hadn't completely lost it and retreated into my office to fetch my book of magic spells.

Instead she found me kneeling on the floor in front of the closet. The mirrored doors were slid all the way open, and inside was a metal file cabinet, one that I used to keep locked up with a hidden key so that anyone who was inside my house wouldn't accidentally happen upon it and come face-to-face with the truth about my life that I had carefully concealed for more than two years. But now there was really no point in hiding it anymore. It seemed like these days just about everyone knew my secrets.

I pulled out the bottom drawer, and immediately began thumbing through the maroon-colored hanging file folders. "I can't believe I didn't think of this before," I said, mostly to myself, but Zo? just happened to be there to hear it.

"What are you talking about, Jen? Have you eaten anything today?"

I ignored her question as I continued rummaging through the drawer, mumbling incoherently to myself.

"Jen?" Zo? demanded an explanation.

I stopped my mad file search long enough to look up, and with sheer excitement in my eyes replied, "I think I just figured out how to take down Raymond Jacobs."





32

All But Erased


I NEVER contact a client once the assignment is complete, mostly because there's just no point. It's awkward enough telling a woman her husband tried to have sex with me; I didn't see any reason to attempt to build a relationship on that.

I gave them what I promised to give them. And after that, my part was done.

Divorce, custody battles, uncomfortable nights on the couch, therapy sessions – those all fall under the category of things I just didn't need to know about. And in all honesty, I don't think I even wanted to know.

But then again, I suppose there are always exceptions. And I think I had just encountered my first one.

Zo? stood behind me and watched curiously as I flipped through hundreds of folders in my file cabinet. All appearing essentially identical – except for the printed name on the top.

A graveyard of the betrayed.

I pulled out the file folder labeled "Anne Jacobs" and began to flip through it. As much as I always attempt to distance myself from my clients and their lives, flipping back through the pages of Anne's file was like flipping through the pages of a diary.

These weren't just pages in a locked archive somewhere; these were pages of my life. And stories like hers – like those of all of the clients in this cabinet – were my memories from the last two years.

That was the choice I had made. And this file cabinet was the very proof that my choice had produced results... many of them.

Anne's file was laid out in the same way all my client files were. Stapled to the inside front cover is the photograph of the subject, supplied by the client during our initial meeting. The first page of the file is a client bio for the person who hired me, followed by a subject bio for the man in question. I always prepare a one-page overview for every person I evaluate. It includes the basic information: name, age, occupation, hobbies, school affiliations, a summarized background of the relationship with my client, and then a section that describes the client's reason for suspicion. I also note the date, time, and location that the assignment will take place. Then, at the end, I leave a small space for any additional notes or comments that pertain to the case.

These bios are always prepared before the assignment...or pre-facto. The next page of each client file is the post-assignment review. This is basically just a summary of exactly what happened during the assignment (or as well as I can remember). I try to be as precise as possible, throwing in times and exact locations or room numbers if I can recall them. After all, this was a business like any other. And in order to keep it as professional as possible, I had to treat it as such.

Plus, you just never know when the information might prove useful.

Case in point...right now.

"Is that him?" Zo? asked, peering over my shoulder at the photograph stapled to the inside front cover of the file. "Is that the Raymond Jacobs guy?"

I followed her eye line to the haunting picture staring back at me. I shuddered as I allowed his eyes to pierce through me. All I could think about as I glared at the picture was the look on his face when I sat across from him in his office. That look of pure satisfaction, knowing that he had all the power. And I had nothing.

That is... until now.

Or at least I hoped.

I casually flipped past all the articles I had collected and committed to memory on Kelen Industries, Raymond himself, and the automobile industry in general, until I finally arrived at what I was looking for.

At the back of every file are the handwritten pages of notes from the client meetings themselves. These are the things I write down in my portfolio as the client is telling me their all-too-familiar story. The raw data, before it is skimmed through and filtered for all information deemed important enough to include in the bio.

And the reason I was so anxious to reach that particular page of nearly illegible scribbles was because of a very small, very tiny detail that, taken out of context, might seem fairly insignificant. But put into context (especially the context of my current situation) was exactly the opposite.