Not a detective

It was almost impossible to get the evidence from his grandfather's murder case, but his status swayed them in the end. 

However, even as the detective placed the box in front of Blaine, he grumbled that this was against protocol, and he was not allowed to take it out of the building.

An office was cleared out for him, and he got comfortable with a cup of coffee. 

He spent the whole night at the station, head bent, going through all the images that had been taken that day. 

He stared the longest at the one where his grandfather was sprawled out on his bed, hoping to see something tangible.

Why had he not thought it odd at that time that grandfather would want to have anything to do with a girl as young as Leila, a maid? 

Even in his younger days, the man did not care too much for women. His whole life was Mõshon. He fought for Mõshon, and when he was no longer fighting to get the entirety of it, he was fighting to protect what he got.

He stared at the body of the woman beside him, a bloodied mass, her throat, and frowned, noticing something odd for the first time. 

If the woman had killed grandfather and then proceeded to commit suicide by blowing her head off, why did her injury appear this way?

He stared at the picture, pulling the light further down. If he wanted to kill himself, he would turn the nose of the gun up, vertically under his chin and fire. Why was this one angled to where her neck joined to her head?

It was a small thing, but it made all the difference.

He was no detective, but he would think that someone who wanted to die, who was in a hurry to shoot themselves before anyone came in, would either point the gun at their temple or wedge it under their chin.

He shook his head, that was probably an all-nonsense analogy. 

If it was really an important detail, the detectives would have picked it up. They were by no means an incompetent bunch.

He began to play the video recording of everyone’s interrogation. 

It took him all night, because theirs was a large household and it had been a full house that day with his cousins and uncles and nieces present for the meeting grandfather had called. 

It could have been any of them.

Since he knew his mother and housekeeper had lied in their testimony of where they'd been and what they had done that night, he studied their faces and gestures intently to match them against the others, so he would know who was lying and who was not.

But that was a fail. Because, where his mother was quite jittery and sobbing non-stop, the housekeeper was stoic and did not say many words. 

Completely different reactions.

He stood up as daylight began to appear outside.

He was no good at this, because he had zero detective skill and crime experience. 

He did not want to ask the police to reopen the case because that would only alert whoever was behind all this that he was on to them.

He would have to enlist the help of a discreet private detective and hope the person did not get conflicted.

The police officer appeared at the door as he turned to leave, and Blaine saw the man was more than pleased to see he had not found any more answers than they had two years ago. 

The wasted night made a clear distinction between the professionals and the rookies.

Blaine smiled at him, “I guess we can’t all have everything. Some get the money, others get to solve mysteries.” 

He patted the man on the shoulder to knock the insult in, and walked out of the room as the man turned to watch him leave, speechless.

He sighed. 

He had to get his fun one way or the other, especially with difficult and cocky police officers.

He sat in the backseat and as the car began to drive back to the mansion he fell asleep.

He opened his eyes again when he felt the car begin to slow down, and his phone began to ring.

“Yes, Ethan.” He said into the phone, nodded at his guards, and walked up to the mansion. “What meetings do I have today?”

“The TV show with Chairwoman Sullivan is today,” Ethan responded and Blain stopped in his tracks. 

He thought that would not be next week.

“Are you sure, why was it scheduled so close to the inspection?” He asked, as he continued his walk up the stairs. 

He might not have spent the whole night up if he had any idea the show was today. 

He was going to look like hell on live television.

“You said we had to put it close together to avoid her changing her mind,” Ethan said quietly. 

Blaine did not remember saying that, but he knew he was capable of saying that. 

“Ok. I will be ready for it.” 

He had better get some sleep now before evening.

“Also..” Ethan started to say and Blaine groaned. 

“Cancel any other meetings I have today,” he said quickly.

“The board meeting, chairman. The stakeholders have already begun to arrive.” 

Blaine stood still. 

Stakeholdes? Then he remembered Ariel’s concern yesterday, and his altercation with Sullivan.

“Buy me one hour. Entertain them with the inspection or something. I will be there soon.” 

He hung up before Ethan could get any more word in. 

He was shaved, dressed and showered in twenty minutes, and he had breakfast with a lot of coffee in the car as they headed to Mõshon. 

He felt pumped with caffeine and stepped out of the car clear-eyed. 

Sullivan arrived at the same time and as Blaine watched him step out of the car with Ariel and his executive P. A rumor had it had been his lay forever, he suddenly felt lonely.

Before, he would always show up at the company with Ophelia. 

Sullivan saw him, smiled brightly like they were friends, and waved. 

Ariel glanced at him and quickly looked away. 

He watched her walk away in a floral H-line shirt that reminded him of Japan in the autumn. 

She looked brisk and businesslike in the square-shouldered top and slicked-back ponytail.

And when Sullivan tried to hold her by his side, she moved away a little, her flowing long, white skirt blowing in the wind.

Blaine smiled. Sullivan did not have it all, after all.