Page 20 of When You’re Broken (Finn Wright #11)
Finn drove with one hand, glancing at the dashboard as a familiar clunk resounded from the rear of his battered car. Evening twilight cast blue hues on the windshield, casting stripes across Amelia’s lap. She shifted in the passenger seat and shot him a concerned look.
“That clunking again,” she said, frowning. “The last thing we need is a breakdown right now.”
Finn patted the dashboard as if the aging vehicle were a skittish horse that needed soothing.
"It's just an issue with the suspension coil in the back.
I'll fix it when we actually have a spare moment.
" He braked lightly, navigating an unfamiliar turn-off heading toward a multi-story car park in London.
"This old girl won't fail on us yet. Promise. "
Amelia let out a tension-laced sigh. “I’ll hold you to that.
” She folded her arms over her jacket, her gaze sliding to the side window.
“I can’t stop thinking about Brendan. We still don’t know exactly where Wendell’s keeping him—or even if he’s…
” Her voice caught, and she trailed off, swallowing.
“I just keep hoping he’s still alive. What Wendell did to Kelvin Street was. ..”
Finn’s chest tightened at her words. He couldn’t blame her for the fear that pressed behind every breath. “We won’t let it come to that,” he said, his tone low but certain. He shifted gears, guiding the car up the ramp into the multi-story car park.
The structure loomed, concrete and uniform, with painted lines marking each level.
The overhead lights flickered as they wound higher, searching for an open spot.
The clatter of the engine echoed against the cement pillars, intensifying the clunk from the coil.
Amelia rested her elbow on the windowsill, a haunted expression cast on her face.
At last, Finn found a free space and parked.
After cutting the engine, he let out a contained breath, ignoring the pang in his gut.
He wasn’t sure if it was from hunger or the constant swirl of tension.
“Ready?” he asked, unfastening his seat belt.
She glanced at him, nodded once.
Outside the car, the wind carried a hint of chill, and the sky was painted with dusk, muted oranges somewhere far below the horizon giving off one last shriek of illumination.
They descended the concrete steps of the car park, emerging onto a busy London street with high-rises jutting into the skyline.
People bustled by, suits and casual wear, phone conversations forming an urban chorus.
Finn and Amelia navigated the sidewalk, weaving around a few milling tourists.
Ahead rose a towering skyscraper of reflective glass, boasting dozens of floors.
The building’s rotating doors mirrored the city lights, and a steady flow of suited professionals walked in and out, IDs swinging from lanyards.
Finn slowed, checking his phone for the address.
The neon sign near the entrance read Stratton Tower in tall letters.
According to the database, this was the place: a hub of businesses, each tucked into pristine office suites, Winlock Accounts among them.
“Winlock Accounts,” Finn said quietly, scanning the directory posted beside the revolving doors. “Lewis Smeaton’s workplace. He’s a business manager for them.”
Amelia arched an eyebrow. “They might not be eager to let us question their staff. But we don’t have time for diplomacy.” She pressed through the rotating door first, with Finn right behind.
Inside, the lobby gleamed with polished marble floors and a wide reception desk manned by a pair of employees in matching navy uniforms. The air smelled faintly of lemon cleaner, and a hush of corporate efficiency hovered over the space.
Off to one side stood a row of high-speed elevators, each set into gold-paneled walls.
Finn let his gaze drift to a directory on the far wall. Sure enough, Winlock Accounts was listed, occupying a suite on the twenty-seventh floor. He motioned for Amelia to follow, and they approached the central reception desk. A young woman in a crisp blouse looked up, adjusting her earpiece.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted, polite but guarded. “May I help you?”
Amelia produced her police ID. “Inspector Winters with Hertfordshire Constabulary and the Home Office. This is Finn Wright, a consultant detective working with us. We’re here to see Lewis Smeaton of Winlock Accounts. It’s urgent.”
The receptionist blinked in mild surprise, then lifted the phone handset.
“Let me call his office.” She pressed a few buttons, turning slightly away for privacy.
The hush of the lobby allowed Finn to hear distant chatter from other visitors.
After a moment, the receptionist paused, listening to the line.
Her expression tightened. She murmured, “Understood,” then turned back to them.
“I’m afraid Mr. Smeaton is unavailable at the moment. ”
Amelia’s mouth pressed into a flat line.
She leaned closer, voice calm but edged.
“We’re not here for a polite visit. We need to speak to Mr. Smeaton immediately regarding a man named Harry Renfield.
If he doesn’t want to see us in private, I can always talk about it loudly here in the lobby, in front of everyone.
I’m sure they’d be fascinated to hear all about the money laundering. ”
The receptionist’s eyes widened. She lifted the phone again.
Amelia kept her face impassive, but Finn sensed the tension coiled behind her stance.
After a short exchange, the receptionist hung up.
“He’ll see you right away. Twenty-seventh floor.
Elevator’s on your left. Please sign in your details here. ”
Finn and Amelia scribbled their names in the logbook, ignoring the sideways glances from a couple of other visitors. The receptionist then swiped a pair of visitor badges and handed them over. “You can go up now.”
They crossed the lobby, stepping into a sleek elevator with mirrored walls.
The door slid shut with a gentle chime. As the car ascended, the cityscape revealed itself in the glass behind them—London’s sprawl of rooftops and distant towers under a dimming sky.
Finn’s stomach gave a twist, half from the altitude, half from anticipation.
Amelia stared out the glass, face etched with worry.
Finn felt an urge to reassure her, but the tension between them weighed heavily, so he kept silent.
Finally, the elevator pinged at the twenty-seventh floor.
The doors slid open, revealing a plush corridor lined with modern light fixtures and tasteful abstract art on the walls.
A brushed metal sign read Winlock Accounts .
Finn and Amelia followed it to a frosted-glass entrance, where a smaller reception station beckoned.
A single young man behind a polished desk stood as they approached, but upon seeing their badges, he pointed them toward a corridor.
“Mr. Smeaton’s office is straight down, last door on the left. ”
Amelia knocked briefly on the door. Without waiting for a full reply, she pushed it open.
Inside was a spacious office with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a breathtaking view of the city, the night lights shining bright.
At the center, an imposing wooden desk stood, behind which a middle-aged man in a tailored suit rose stiffly.
He had thinning hair brushed carefully to the side and sharp eyes that darted between them.
“Lewis Smeaton?” Amelia asked.
The man nodded, offering a tight-lipped smile. “That’s me. And you must be from the police?” His gaze swept to Finn, who closed the door behind them.
Amelia introduced herself, brandishing her ID again. “Inspector Winters, and this is Mr. Finn Wright, a consultant. We need information about Harry Renfield. We have reason to believe you’ve done business with him.”
Smeaton let out a clipped cough, crossing to a seat behind his desk. “Renfield was a minor client. We parted ways due to his questionable dealings. That’s it. Hardly a scandal.”
Finn said nothing initially, letting Amelia push.
She took a step forward, hands at her sides.
“Our records suggest something deeper than minor accounts. Mr. Renfield is suspected of forging identities and dealing firearms. Now he’s vanished.
We suspect Wendell Reed used him. If you’re covering for Renfield, we need to know. ”
Smeaton bristled, adjusting his tie. “I have no desire to cover for him, Inspector. I’m not involved in anything illegal. He was an unpleasant chap, and we ended our contract as soon as we found out how unsavory he was. That’s all.”
Finn leaned forward. “Are you going to stonewall us?”
“There’s nothing to stonewall about,” the man said. “And if you don’t have any legal reason to force questioning, I’d like to ask you both to leave.”
Finn exchanged a glance with Amelia. She arched an eyebrow as if urging him to continue. Instead, he turned to her, walked back outside the room and then said quietly, "Would you mind stepping outside for a second, Amelia? I'd like to speak with Mr. Smeaton privately."
She blinked in surprise. “Why?”
He gave her a gentle look, careful to keep his voice low. “We might need to cut corners. You’re an official Inspector, so I’d rather you not be in the room if… well, if we push boundaries. If I do something that crosses a line, I don’t want you implicated. You understand?”
Her expression flickered between shock and objection. “Finn, you can’t just—”
He placed a hand lightly on her arm. “Please, trust me. This might help us find Brendan.” He lowered his voice, letting that personal note speak louder than formalities.
She hesitated, anger flaring in her eyes, but eventually gave a short nod. “Fine. I’ll be right here. And please—don’t do anything insane.” She shot a warning glare at Smeaton, then Finn stepped back into the office, the door clicking shut behind him.