That's what you get

The winds had risen to a point slightly above 38mph and it was impossible to see outside the window. The blizzard had come unexpectedly so it was impossible for me to leave the law firm, at least not without the blizzard emergency kit which consists of jumper cables, road flares, tow ropes and some non-perishable snacks. With the luck I had been having that particular week, I wouldn't have been surprised if my car broke down and I got jumped by a bear or something. And also there was tea, a generator and fresh doughnuts at the canteen counter. Mary, the receptionist made sure to order a fresh batch for me before he left since it was well known that I tended to stay out late and be the last one out. It was part of the well-established routine in the Jacob and Partners law firm.

Established at the very center of the central business district of Toronto, the firm was undoubtedly the oldest, most famous and highest rated Law firm in the country. We even represented politicians and billionaires from all over Canada. It had always been a dream of mine to work at such a prestigious place and even though I was sure it had something to do with my uncle owning the place.  I did have a degree in international law, a Masters degree in criminal law and a bachelor’s in Business law so I would say I was quite deserving of the Partners Position I had been offered.

Even though it had been just over four years since I joined the firm, I had never fully explored the building. It may have been the fact that I that I had no social life whatsoever and basically spent my whole life holed up in my office but I legitimately only knew five rooms out of the whole three stories that occupied the building and I guessed my absentmindedness didn’t help in the learning about my surroundings and all. I could imagine my grandmother shaking her head and muttering about how I’d probably be kidnapped by aliens and never notice. I agreed with her fully. In a world where you related to powerful individuals you had to work eight times as hard just to prove yourself. Even to your own self. I had finished the check on our latest client and called my best friend to get me some help because even thou the cushions on the couches were plush and the generator was running, powering the air conditioner, I still preferred my expensive bed and the warm-coldness of my bachelor pad. It was as good time as any to actually see the place.

It was weird that I had been hanging around the firm since I was six but still had to look at the directions laid up at every turn. In my defense, even at that time I had bigger fish to fry. Like the fact that my birthday party which had supposed to be held at the Staples Centre was being moved instead to Disney Land like I was some baby. My life was pretty tragic at that tender age.

The firm had been built centuries ago but  had been renovated as the times changed and managed to spot a vintage and modern look at the same time. The walls were mostly decorated with paintings of historical figures like Sir Frederick Banting, Pierre Trudeau, William Carson and the likes. It was funny how I never noticed the paintings, like, at all.

 An hour to my  tour Terry, my best friend, called and reported that a tour truck was on it’s way. I decided to wrap up the tour, mentally calculating  and concluding that the truck would arrive in fifteen minutes. I decided to take a detour to the bathroom but was distracted when I saw the red door next to the bathroom, a no entry sign plastered on the top. I remembered at that moment the morality clause that had been at the very top of my employment contract. Under no circumstances was anyone allowed into the room.

Maybe I don’t go out much. Maybe I have the attention span of a drunk goldfish. One thing I was certain of though was that if I did not want something paid attention to, I did not draw any attention to it. For chrissakes it was a red door. A red door that had a sign that told you not to enter. I may be wrong but that surely means open the door and enter the damned room.

Now, as a criminal lawyer, I had done things that I wasn’t proud of. I defended criminals, let ‘the bad guys’ out of jail and sent victims home without closure. Because of this I tried to compensate by donating lots of money to charities, abiding by road rules and being kind and gentle outside of work. You could imagine I was reluctant to break that good streak by doing something crazy, like entering the forbidden room and acting innocent the next day. It was a very slimy thing to do. So I did it. In my defense though, I was going to get my uncle an extra ounce of cream and the freshest doughnut from the whole batch the next day. Besides, the door would most probably be locked. It wasn’t.

It was probably high profile case files in there. It wouldn’t be a big deal if I took a peek inside and left. If I didn’t, it would drive me crazy, like an unfinished job. I just had to step in and out, then it would be done. Honestly, I Half expected some hula girl to jump out and start dancing when I opened the door but of course nothing of that sort happened. The room was surprisingly empty and I was so relieved I planned to leave that very moment. I would have, if not for the crack in the wall. I cursed as my body practically propelled me towards the plain white wall where I found the crack in the wall to be, in fact, an opening to a secret room. I should have left it there. I knew what a secret room meant. I knew I had no business there but there was a bookcase. A freaking bookcase, and I couldn’t not try to see if it wasn’t some cliché. It was. It really was, because when I pulled a certain red book, the only one with a hard cover, the wall parted.

What wasn’t so cliché on the other hand was what I found. Like an exhibit at an auction, there were many glass cases encasing the most expensive jewelry ever. My uncle Mr Tremblay was a filthy rich man. Him owning jewelry would not be a problem or even remotely surprising. No. the shocking thing was the fact that the jewelry at hand was the famous jewelry of the Maharaj, jewelry that had been stolen from exhibits all over the world. The mastermind behind the theft was the well known Falcon, an International unknown criminal who left a King of Spade card every where he struck. I was absolutely struck dumb as I looked around the white room to find paintings, famous paintings and the famous mask of the falcon, encased in the biggest -red- glass.

An incoming call broke my reverie and I couldn’t get away fast enough. I even forgot to switch of the lights and close the secret door. While I laid in my bed that night, I thought of my uncle. My sarcastic, sweet, loving, jovial uncle. He was very smart too. No one would suspect him. No one would think the jewels could be found in a room besides the employees restrooms at a respected firm. No one would suspect him, period. Why would they? He could easily afford to buy jewelry for himself.  And me, I was numb.

The next day when my uncle called me to his office, a gun on top of his desk and an easy smile on his lips I knew he knew. Somehow I wasn’t surprised. I didn’t say anything on the issue as we went through the case file of the senator and he didn’t either. He didn’t need to. I got the message loud and clear. If I spoke I would die. The moral of the story, do not enter does in fact mean exactly that.