Pocketbook Holder For Table Novels & Stories

All three men chuckle, causing my heart to quicken at how much like that noise. "In a way, yes.” Jacob confirms. Ethan and Jordan bring me into a room with low lighting and a large black wood pool table with red carpet. The table has intricate designs all around it, as if the artist spent days, weeks, on this specific table. Tiny white dots outline the top of the darkened wood and red pockets sit at the end of all four corners of the rectangular table with a couple more pockets on the sides. Jacob returns with a triangle thing in his hands and sets it on the table to begin putting balls in the middle of it.

He’s that keen. “Oh, yeah. Uhm kindly gets a chair and place it in front of the table. I’d like to discuss something about what your topic will be,” he said, still not looking at me. I pouted and went back to the conference table anyway. I grabbed one monobloc chair and placed it in front of the table where he was working. I placed my shoulder bag on my lap and got the folder he gave me and my iPad. It hassles me to bring a laptop, so I just settled on my iPad because it’s light and comfy to bring. It also doesn’t take so much space in my bag.

"It will." He put the book carefully into his coat pocket—the inside pocket, the one closest to the body, which was also the choice that was not accidental. Thomas had many pockets in his coat—the work coat he wore for the Monday work, the coat with the reinforced elbows and the deep pockets for tools and string and the other necessities of the garden. He had chosen the inside pocket. The pocket that was against his chest. The pocket that would keep the book warm, close to his body, protected from the weather and the work and the ordinary hazards of the Monday mornings.

A small cruel game that had accidentally trained me to see things most people missed. "Someone went through the financial records," I said. Marcus came and stood beside me. He looked at the stack and then at me. "You are certain?" he said. "That stack was centered on the table this morning," I said. "It is not centered now." Marcus looked at it for a long moment. Then he picked up the folder carefully and opened it. Everything appeared to be there. Every page. Every document. But tucked against the inside back cover was something that had not been there before. A small device. Flat and black and no bigger than my thumbnail.

I hand him the photograph, “I don't think she did it.” His eyes turn hard, “Doesn’t seem possible.” He perches on the edge of the table where I had picked yup the photo frame frame, his mouth open to say something else. However, I suddenly hear a grinding sound and I push. him off the table. When his legs move, I see a small compartment having dropped from underneath the table. “What the-?” It's quite small, book sized to be exact. I reach down and extract a large sheaf of papers from it.

Under the intense, suffocating weight of their curious stares, Samuel marches straight to the head of the table, digs his small hand deep inside his coat pocket, and drops a shiny silver foil protection wrapper flat onto the wood right before Kaelen’s plate. "Mister, your pocket dropped this crucial gear onto the tiles when your boots were exiting the washroom stall. My claws salvaged your property from the floor. Here is your item." What item? The remaining corporate directors lean their massive torsos forward, their noses twitching as their eyes lock onto the object resting on the oak.

In the room were four small but exquisite solid wood tables and also several landscape paintings on the walls, looking very artistic. At each table was a dedicated server, brewing coffee for the young men and women sitting on the sofa. How elegant! On the table were many keys to different cars, such as Ferrari, Porsche, and Maserati—all of which were very luxurious. The young ladies also carried branded handbags such as Gucci, LV, and Chanel. It was a gathering of the rich second generation, indeed. “What time is it? Why hasn’t Lydia arrived yet?” A young girl in black clothes glanced at the Patek Philippe watch on her wrist and muttered in dissatisfaction.

" What are you doing here, Madison?" Austin asked. I was in his room to keep a few documents on his working table, but I saw a locket hanging from the pencil holder when I was leaving. It instantly caught my attention and I pried to look further into it. I picked the locket and felt the texture of the circle pendant in the chain. It looked like it had some type of mechanism to open it as there is something with a sword shape engraved in it. It might be something...

If she’d come in, she’d have announced herself with a knock and a joke about my terrible taste in books. I approached the table. The air in the room felt… stirred. Like someone had opened a window not long ago and shut it again. I reached for the book. It lifted easily. Underneath it, resting on the smooth wood, lay a single black feather. Long. Glossy. It's too big to belong to any sparrow or crow that might have slipped in by accident. Beside it, coiled neatly, was a thin strip of dark leather cord. And tied to that, in a compact, practiced knot, was a small rolled piece of parchment.

Then she brought out a few papers from a briefcase that had rested by the table the entire time, Martha wasn’t holding it when they walked in. Had she chosen the table beforehand and sent someone to set everything up? Martha opened up the black box and brought out a few papers and handed it over to Halle before setting the briefcase down on the floor. It was made out of premium black leather, it was shiny like it had been polished a thousand times but Halle knew it was just how the material was. Damn. That bag should’ve cost a fortune! “Please read through those and tell me what you think,” Halle looked down at the papers, there were only three of them.