Page 7 of A Cobbled Conspiracy
He trailed off, reading something on his screen that made his expression darken. “We have another problem.”
My heart sank further, though I hadn’t thought that was possible. “What now?”
“Text from Councilwoman Fairfax. The police want to talk to everyone in the district about the break-in.” Blake pocketed his phone, his movements smooth and controlled despite his personal investment in the situation.
“Think it’s connected to… everything else?” Penny asked.
“The timing feels too convenient to be coincidence,” Blake said.
He’s right. The night before Dominic’s bail was denied, someone had targeted the Historical Society, the repository of records that could potentially connect to the corporate espionage case or the development pressures threatening our neighborhood.
Jake shifted uncomfortably, his expression troubled. “This reminds me of stuff that happened back in Boston. Documents going missing, businesses getting pressured… I never really understood what it all meant at the time, but now…” He trailed off, looking uncertain. “It feels like the same kind of thing, you know?”
“We need to find out what they were looking for,” I said, forcing myself to stand despite the lingering dizziness. The omega grief response was making me weak, but I couldn’t afford weakness right now.
Blake caught my arm as I swayed. “You’re in no condition right now. You need rest, food, and time to process what just happened.”
“What Ineedis to find out who framed my mate and why.” The statement emerged more cutting than I’d meant. I instantly felt remorseful. “Sorry, Blake. I know you’re just trying to help.”
Blake grinned, unbothered, his smile slightly crooked. For the first time, I really saw the family resemblance between him and Dominic.
“No problem,” he said. “I appreciate feisty omegas.”
I ignored his quip. “The Historical Society has records going back generations. Property deeds, business licenses, family histories. If someone’s trying to build a case or cover their tracks, those documents would be goldmines.”
“We need to go to the Historical Society,” I said as Blake ushered us to his car. “Tonight, after the police finish their investigation.”
Blake opened the passenger door for me. “You’re running on pure adrenaline. You need rest before?—”
“I need answers.” I retorted, my stubborn independence reasserting itself now that the immediate crisis had passed. “Someone framed Dominic to keep us from investigating whatever’s really happening in the district. The Historical Society break-in isn’t coincidence—it’s connected. I’m sure of it.”
Jake nodded slowly. “I keep thinking about Boston. My boss there… there were always weird things happening. People would talk about ‘taking care of problems’ and documents would just disappear.” His fingers knotted together anxiously as he spoke. “I thought it was just everyday business drama, but what if it wasn’t? What if I was working around this kind of stuff the whole time and just too naive to see it?”
Blake studied the three of us with the calculating look of someone weighing risks against potential intelligence gains. Finally, he nodded. “Fine. But we go together, and we’re careful. Mobsters won’t hesitate to eliminate people who ask too many questions… even omega civilians.”
His words should have terrified me. Instead, they sparked something fierce and protective in my chest. My mate was locked away, my community was under threat, and someone thought they could intimidate us into compliance.
They were about to learn that underestimating an omega’s determination was a mistake.
The Historical Society’s front door hung askew on its hinges, yellow police tape creating a barrier that seemed almost offensively bright against the building’s weathered brick. Shards of glass glittered across the marble steps as we stepped inside. Whoever broke in had left a chaotic trail of destruction, papers and artifacts scattered like autumn leaves after a violent storm. We found Adelaide in her office, her usually perfect composure cracked by stress and exhaustion.
“Leo!” She rushed forward as we approached, her beta scent sharp with anxiety. “I’m so sorry about Dominic. This whole situation is just awful.”
“Thank you,” I managed, though talking about the bail hearing felt like poking at a fresh wound. “What happened here?”
Adelaide’s expression darkened. “Professional job. They knew exactly what they were looking for—went straight to the archives. Other than trashing the place, they ignored all the valuable antiques and artwork. Whoever did this wanted specific documents.”
“What kind of documents?” Blake asked.
“Property records, mostly,” Adelaide said. “Deeds, architectural plans, family histories dating back to the 1970s.”
My curiosity stirred despite the emotional exhaustion. “That’s oddly specific. Why would someone want fifty-year-old paperwork?”
“Maybe for the same reason someone framed Dominic for corporate espionage?” Penny suggested. “To keep people from looking too closely at something they’d rather keep buried.”
“Doesn’t that seem a little far-fetched?” Adelaide asked. “The documents they took… they were mostly just records of the original development plans for the district renovation project back in 1973. Not exactly highly scandalous stuff.”
“The project that was suddenly abandoned after that young architect disappeared?” I asked quietly, the connection feeling significant in a way I couldn’t quite explain.