Danger

Monday: 7:58 Am.
I stomped onto the campus of the prestigious high school I was forced to attend and let out a sigh. I had arrived late due to my traumatic melt down but thankfully no makeup had smeared across my face since I wasn't wearing any. The bell rang a few minutes later and summoned me to my first class of the day. My dad had made me promise when we both entered the secret service that I wouldn't let my studies fall just because I spent most of my time on secret missions- so of course my first class was Calculus even though I was only a second year. I had undergone prestigious martial arts classes and became fluent in about 5 languages since the time I was 8 which came in handy for my job. The day went by quickly despite all the emotions I had hurried inside and I hadn't met even one person. So far this was turning out to be the easiest case I had ever taken which was both relieving and concerning. I hadn't gotten any leads but the lack of contact made it easy to snoop around among the staff. I searched through the lower staff files for a while for any inconspicuous characters but eventually made it to the attendance office and snuck through the student files for a while until I had fount a handful of characters. I snuck them through the copy machine, stuffing the files in my bag and exiting the building.

I arrived home at a quarter to 7 with my dad at the kitchen, once more slaving away as he did for every meal. I set the files on the table and dipped my finger into a fresh batch of cookie dough, letting the texture settle against my tongue as I hopped onto one of the island stools. "Sorry I'm late." I muttered as I spread the sheets out for my fathers viewing, "I managed to find some suspicious characters today. Wanna look through them with me?" I tilted my head to the side, almost begging my father to help enlighten me with his expertise, "I'm cooking sweetheart." He replied bluntly, his voice sounding tired. I bit my lip and thought for a moment before scooting out of my chair and leaning over the counter, "I'll try cooking if you look at the papers." I pleaded, my eyes sparkling like a lost, frightened animal. His chest filled up with air which he soon let out before his eyes reluctantly drifted over to me, "Fine but if you burn it you still have to eat it."
"DEAL!" I responded quickly and took the wooden spatula out of his hand, immediately ushering him to the files. I listened as he shuffled the papers around and occasionally stirred the meat around in the skillet as it sizzled. He spent a good ten minutes looking at all the profiles, in which I had time to overcook but not burn the meat, before he reproached me holding a single paper in his hand. I looked from the paper to him and he did the same thing with the food before we switched positions, "Why her?" I asked, not completely convinced and leaned up against the fridge. "I'm not 100% sure it is her but she's related." His voice was so confident whereas I was still clueless. But I believed my dad, he didn't always know for sure why someone is guilty but they usually end up at least being friends with the guilty party. Still, something seemed off to me. I reexamined the profiles before one stuck out to me, a young boy probably no older than me who was the illegitimate son of my uncles' prime investor - if my uncle died then the family would lose a strong hold on their money and a large chunk of their stalks. Finally, a solid lead

Notes

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