Chris looked at the glovebox direction even though they were on the rooftop now."Now that we have been able to retrieve that drug, what if the police were tipped off and they came to the house?" he said. "They find nothing. What happens then?"Sandra set her pen down."Brooks gets word that the police visited and found nothing," she said. "Which tells him one of two things: either the operative didn't plant it properly or something removed it before the police arrived." She paused. "Either way, his plan failed. He will have to decide what to do next." She looked at Chris. “Largely, he will blame the operative for not doing the job and scamming him. That is one thing on its own." She said and paused"The most important thing right now is to keep monitoring those camera feeds. If anyone else enters that apartment before this is resolved, we need to know immediately and know what exactly they are doing over there.""And if the police do come," Chris said, "I think I will go to the

The two of them made their way back to the hotel and headed to the rooftopThe rooftop was warm with the kind of light that hotel suites use to make evenings feel longer than they are. The city glittered through the glass walls in every direction, and the table had been reset with dinner while they were at the police station The table now had fresh covers, new cutlery, and covered plates that released good smells when lifted.Jessica was already at the table when they came up. She looked at Chris's face when the elevator opened and read what she needed from it."Done?" she asked."Done," Sandra said.They sat. They ate.For a while the conversation was lighter than it had been all evening. Jessica asked about the firm first: how Sandra had built it and how long it had taken to get properly established after going independent."Three years before it felt stable," Sandra said. "The first year was difficult. The second was manageable. The third time, I stopped being afraid of the end o

Chris left the hotel with a spare shirt folded into his jacket pocket.He walked to the motel. Twenty minutes, the same route he and Sandra had driven the previous night, now covered on foot in the Sunday morning quiet. The city was doing its slow weekend startup, fewer people, less noise, and the particular ease of a day that had not committed to itself yet.The motel reception had a different face behind the desk. Day shift. A younger man, reading something.Chris nodded at him and went upstairs to the room.He let himself in with the key fob, hung the spare shirt on the hook behind the bathroom door, and sat on the edge of the bed. He pulled out his phone.The group chat had thirty-two unread messages.He scrolled through them. Nothing was urgent, the group had been talking among themselves through the evening and into Saturday night, the natural conversation of people who had done something new together and were still running on the energy of it. Ryan had posted about a large ti

About an hour later, Chris finished his essay. He dropped the pen and heaved a sigh of relief.Then he remembered something: he had not ironed his uniform, and he still had some dirty clothes he needed to wash.He went to the phone in the room and dialled reception. The receptionist came on the line. Chris asked directly if they had a laundry service in the hotel or around the hotel. The receptionist confirmed that they had a laundry service and he could either go there or call them to come for his clothes and get them done. Chris asked for their extension, and the receptionist read it out. Chris thanked the receptionist and hung up the phone. He then dialled the extension of the laundry. A man answered the phone. Chris told the man he had some laundry that needed to be done and wanted someone to come over and pick up the clothes. The man asked for his room number, and Chris mentioned it. Then he told him someone was going to come pick it up.The call ended.While he waited, he too