"All that was, all that is, and all that will ever be"
Will love be the strongest force that holds them together or be the ultimate tragedy that breaks them apart?
With death looming like a sword over their heads, endless efforts of a lover to prot...
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ANU
Snickering, I flip through the file laid out on the cold steel table in the private room of the FBI's headquarters in Manhattan. "Immunity...very bold of you Mr. Castillo to assume I would know anything of merit to your case,"
"The FBI believes that you do, Ms. Arora. Your close contact with Mr. Rai puts you in a position privy to his business dealings," detective Castillo, a man in his late forties, slightly graying hair and wise wrinkles around his dark eyes, sits firmly across from me.
"Just because Mr. Rai and I are in a relationship does not mean I have intel on his company's businesses. Your assuming that I do just tells me that the FBI doesn't have a strong case and is being pressured by a very anxious director and foreign secretary to get a conviction as soon as possible," closing the brown manila folder, I slide it across the table, gauging the detective's angle. He's weary, physically exhausted from hitting dead ends so he comes to the one person he thinks can be his saving grace.
"Ms. Arora, the FBI seeks answers for the victims and their families of this gruesome act. Justice is being demanded and fingers are pointed at your boyfriend," his solid fingers grip the edge of the table as his eyes narrow in a subtle threat.
"He has been nothing but cooperative and open to your investigation. Like the rest of us, the rug was pulled out from underneath him when the news broke. You should be interrogating your whistleblower and find out what she knows,"
"How do you know the whistleblower is a she?"
"She approached me at a coffee shop two weeks ago. Panacea is a smokescreen, Mr. Castillo, someone is trying to very hard to take down Sidharth and this is the perfect distraction while they quietly do it,"
"My job is to find the person or persons responsible for killing innocent people, not a crusader to weed out your boyfriend's enemies one by one," defensively he crosses his arms over his chest, swallowing to clear his parched throat.
"It would be the right place to start though, considering you haven't got a solid lead in the case and it's been well over a month," the chair screeches against the floor as I stand, hooking my purse around my shoulder and tightening the belt of my coat around my waist.
"Ms. Arora if anything would come up, though, you will give us a call," I nod, pulling the door open finally releasing the breath I've been holding.
Crisp autumn air cools my throat filling my lungs. Fallen leaves scatter in the howling wind, swirling in tumultuous cyclones of brown, orange and red. Central Park is a canvas of earthy hues, a striking contrast to the dim-lit gray sky and cold barren ground. Summer a distant memory, the land prepares itself for the brutal winter.
Sitting across from the pumpkin patch, I sip my late afternoon pick-me-up coffee watching small children run through the field, tumbling through piles of fallen leaves or picking out a pumpkin to carve for Halloween or as decoration for Thanksgiving.
