The Dark Secret of the CEO by Sofia de Orellana

“Agent Rivera! …Hey, Rivera!”

He turned around, glaring at the figure in the doorway. The woman chuckled.

“Oh, someone had a bad night.”

“Thirty hours awake in a bloody car with fucking Wright for nothing,” he grunted.

“Oh, that explains it,” the woman walked over to pat his shoulder. “What can I get you? Coffee?”

“I’m on my second already,” he sighed. “That and the cold shower helped… But thanks, Dolores. I just need to finish filing that damn report before twelve or the Chief’s going to give me hell.”

“I wouldn’t sweat it,” she scoffed. “Chief’s been talking to journalists all morning, he won’t remember your report until next week, Love.”

“What happened?” He asked with a sigh, stretching his neck. “Gunfight?”

“No, some poor chick committed suicide. Found dead in her hotel room. The case’s pretty clear, but she was some b-rate celebrity so we’ve got all the media covering it.”

He frowned, making the woman chuckle.

“You’ve really been out of the loop eh, hun? It’s all over the radio and TV. Look.”

She walked over to grab the abandoned remote on one of the desks, and switched channels from a soap opera to the news channel. The headline was large, and the journalists’ faces were a bit more stern than usual. The images were showing the front of the Four Seasons Hotel, that fancy place between Park Avenue and Madison Avenue, with a crowd gathered and the dramatic lights of police cars. He frowned. There were dozens of people gathered, and in the middle was indeed their boss, in his uniform, visibly holding an impromptu press conference.

“Look at him,” scoffed Dolores. “They dragged him out of bed at one in the morning to handle the journalists. Poor Rodney…”

He scoffed too, grabbing his half-empty cup to chug down the rest of that coffee. If he remembered well, their Chief of Department was supposed to be off today… Bad luck some famous chick had decided otherwise.

Suddenly, the image on the screen changed to a picture with a face on it. A face he had seen before. He didn’t even hear his cup fall on the desk, bounce and crash down on the floor. He stared at that face, and the name that was scrolling across the bottom of the screen. He slowly stood, in shock.

“Hey! …You alright, Flaco?”

He didn’t answer. No, he hadn’t even heard the question. He felt light-headed, his thoughts spinning. No, not her. He hadn’t even made the connection. He took the remote off Dolores’ hand, turned the sound up. The death had occured right before midnight, the legists had said. Found in her bathtub by her fiancé half an hour later. No witnesses. They showed the images of some young people, crying out as the body-shaped bag was taken out of the Hotel. A fan in tears was interviewed, still in a complete state of shock. So was he.

“…You alright?” Dolores asked gently. “…Were you a fan of hers or something?”

“…Or something,” he muttered.

senses, wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes. He was breathing loudly, as if he had just run a race. His heart had, but it was a… dead end. He was feeling sick to his stomach. He had to be dreaming, right? He hadn’t slept in hours, there was

Dolores. “What pushed her to do such a thing? Bless her soul, the poor darling. I’m never fond of these celebrities, but she was hella young. Who knows what happens to them when they get so famous so young. Makes

was… last

show up. All this

on the case?” He

scrape the carpet just to make her fans and the media happy, but there isn’t anything to

“No.”

the tired face of his boss walking in. He ran, almost bumping into

I want

blinked a couple

are you doing here, shouldn’t you be catching

Season Hotel. I

His Boss hesitated, confused.

The Forensics are on it and we already watched three hours’ worth of tapes from the hotel. This is just

sure it isn’t, Boss. Please.

Department frowned, and looked down on the coffee stain on his pants. He sighed, and walked

into you, Rivera. Shouldn’t you have your hands full with the

and I have gone

and

an excellent detective, you wouldn’t

tell him. He remained of stone,

“…I want this case.”

The Chief sighed.

much either. The journalists are my

suicide,” he

the hell would

subordinate. Luckily, at six in the morning nobody was listening. Only Dolores was standing a bit further,

fucking stubborn, Rivera… Let’s wait for the Forensics. If there’s a case… I’ll consider it. Alright? Now get the hell out of

He stepped out, giving Dolores a vague sign of the hand. He walked out to the coffee machine, just so

wasn’t helping. She kept shouting, and shouting. He was

station froze, turning their eyes to the