The officer stops what he’s writing and looks at me. “You had someone break in and destroy your home?”
I nod, pushing back tears. This holiday season is for the birds.
He steps away, and I’ve just finished texting my team with a short update when Henry returns my nine-one-one text with a phone call. “What’s going on?
I sniff. “My office was vandalized.”
“What? Are you okay?”
I nod. I know he can’t see that, but it’s all I can muster without crying. I look around the corner to find my portfolio on the floor with water and something red poured all over it—all my original drawings, destroyed.
Henry sighs. “I told you you needed more security, but you were insistent that you had nothing of value to steal.”
I cry into the phone.
“I’m on my way. I’m sorry. I—” Henry clears his throat. “I’ve called a rideshare, and it’ll be downstairs waiting for me. I’m coming.”
“Ms. Standing?” the officer says as I hang up. “Do you have the case number for the break-in at your home?”
I shake my head and wrap my arms around myself. “Not with me.”
“Where do you live?”
I recite my address, and he gets on his radio to find the case number. Could these things be related? I can’t imagine who would target me. I don’t even kill spiders or bugs; I scoot them out on pieces of paper. I sigh, not sure what to do. No one could be this upset over me.
I go to sit down, but the officer stops me. “Ma’am, you could destroy evidence.”
So instead, I walk to an open space in the hallway outside my office and slide down to the floor.
With my arms resting on my knees, I bow my head and let the tears flow. I thought losing my father was the worst day of my life, but the cumulative effects of the avalanche, not hearing from Clay, and having my homeandoffice broken into and everything destroyed have brought me to a new low. I’m ready to check myself into a hotel far away, crawl under the covers, and never come out.
After a few minutes I see Henry’s shoes in the periphery of my vision. He slides down on the floor next to me and puts his arm around me. “Do you want to stay at my place tonight?”
I shake my head. When I look up, my office is swarming with people collecting fingerprints and taking photos of the mayhem. A gentleman in green corduroy pants and a red-and-green plaid shirt underneath his khaki raincoat approaches me. “Ms. Standing?”
I look up at him. “Yes.”
“My name is Detective Eric Lenning. I’ve spoken to the officer who took your statement and filed the reports on the burglary in your home, as well as the officer who took your statement today. Do you mind if I join you on the floor?”
I shake my head and wave to the wall opposite me.
“They both tell me you don’t have any past boyfriends who are upset, no clients who are angry, and you have no clue what’s going on.”
“That’s correct.”
“What about your family?”
“My father passed away in September, and my brother is in Shanghai working for the family business. They’re in commercial real estate—rental office space. I’m hardly associated with the business.”
“You were in Tahoe for Thanksgiving?”
I nod.
“She was one of those buried inside the Sky Lodge during the avalanche,” Henry offers.
“Ah, that’s why you look so familiar.” He looks at me with kind eyes. “You’re having a tough week.”
I nod because if I say anything, I’ll start crying again.