Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
She placed a comforting hand on Julia’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll handle this. Where did you set up the press conference? Somewhere we can control the situation, I hope.”
“The food court. It’s the biggest open area. Other than employees preparing food in their units, no one will be there. Mall staff already set up a podium and arranged chairs. Should I have security escort the press in?”
A glance at the time on her phone had Haisley nodding. “I’ll get started in fifteen minutes.”
Julia looked as if she wanted to hug her. “Thank you.”
As the woman hustled away, Haisley’s phone buzzed with another text from Nash.
More info on the affair. Benedict’s something on the side is named Clarissa. No last name yet. Be careful what you say to the press. Be careful in general.
Haisley gave him a thumbs-up, but her stomach churned. She made her way to the food court, trying to organize her thoughts into something coherent so she didn’t sound like a babbling idiot…or like someone who knew next to nothing.
At the top of the hour, she took her place behind the podium as the cacophony of incoming press descended. They quickly settled into the assembled chairs, cameras at the ready.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Haisley Rowe, the social media director for Benedict Land Development,” she began, her voice surprisingly steady. “I know you all have questions about the tragic deaths of George and Mila Benedict. At this time, we have very little information beyond what has been reported in the news. Investigations are ongoing, and I can’t comment on those.”
She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “But the Oakfield Mall management and staff, along with the employees of Benedict Land Development, are shocked and saddened by this turn of events. Our thoughts are with the Benedicts’ family and friends, as well as others affected. Those are all the prepared remarks I have. I’ll take questions.”
As Haisley fielded the reporters’ queries, doing her best to deflect those she couldn’t answer, a nagging feeling grew in the pit of her stomach. There was more to this story—much more—and somehow she wasn’t seeing the whole picture. What had caused Mr. Benedict to go off the rails? Had he come back to the office for the loaded Glock in his humidor? Had Mila learned about Clarissa and confronted him? Or had she realized that her husband was the leader of a sex trafficking ring and freaked out?
When Haisley finally ended the press conference, promising updates as more information became available, she felt drained. She retreated to the mall’s management office only to find Julia away from her desk.
Haisley collapsed into the woman’s chair with a heavy sigh as her phone buzzed again—another text from Nash.
Trees got more info off of Benedict’s phone. We need to talk ASAP. I’m on my way to you. You need to see this.
Haisley’s heart started racing. What had they uncovered? A breakthrough? And how deep did this rabbit hole go? She couldn’t shake the feeling that something far bigger—and more sinister—was at work with the Benedicts’ murder-suicide. The events of the past twenty-four hours had left her overwhelmed. Passion, love, death, and shrouded secrets. Whatever Nash had uncovered, it must be serious if he was dropping everything to show her right now.
As Haisley headed back toward the food court, her heels clicked against the generic tile floor. She passed shuttered storefronts that made the mall feel eerily quiet. Only the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant voices of early morning staff broke the silence.
Once she rounded the corner to the food court, she scanned the space. A figure caught her eye. In one hand, he clutched a yellow Caution: Wet Floor sign. With the other, he pulled an industrial cart.
Her pulse quickened. The janitor—the one Abby had described as creepy, who had been conveniently “sick” when Nash tried to interview him earlier in the week—was lingering near the women’s restroom. This might be their chance to fill in some blanks. She glanced at her watch. Nash was on his way. The mall would open soon, making it far less likely the janitor would have time to speak to them later.
It was now or never.
Haisley ducked under the stanchion cordoning off the shadowy hallway and approached the man in the blue jumpsuit.
“Excuse me,” she called out, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her stomach.
The man turned, his weathered face impassive. “Ma’am, this area is closed for cleaning.”
“I know. I’m sorry to bother you.” Haisley flashed what she hoped was a disarming smile. “I’m Haisley Rowe. You were scheduled to speak with my…cohort, Nash Scott, earlier this week about some recurring…incidents here at the mall.”
The janitor’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression remained neutral. “Yeah. The interview. Um…” He glanced at his watch, then back at Haisley. “I’ve got to get this restroom cleaned before opening. Tell you what? I can make a few minutes to sit down with you and that security guy as soon as I’m done here. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes.”