Page 169 of Broken Destiny

A stapler and pencils flew out from the force of my pull from the first drawer, clattering loudly against the wood, making my pulse spike even higher.

Receipts and documents filled the second drawer—neatly stacked, perfectly organized, completely useless to me in that moment.

I pulled the third drawer.

It didn’t budge.

It was locked.

I clenched my jaw and looked around for the key, sweat beginning to bead along my forehead and slide down the side of my face.

My hands moved quickly as I turned everything over on the desk, shifting papers, lifting folders, checking beneath stacks of documents.

Nothing.

I couldn’t find the key.

The muscles in my arms cramped from the force I was using.

Is the key even in the room?

Maybe it was with my mother.

I scanned the room again, my breathing accelerating until each inhale felt shallow and strained.

It was no use.

The key was probably with my mother.

Grabbing the photograph, I knew I had to ask her about this.

I took the schedule in my other hand and started walking out of the office, my mind racing ahead of me—trying to prepare questions, explanations, possibilities—when I bumped into the table.

The lamp sitting on her desk tipped over with a dull thud.

I cursed under my breath and bent down quickly to pick it up, my heartbeat turning frantic in my chest.

And then I saw it.

The key was stuck to the bottom of the lamp.

For a split second, I froze, staring at it.

Please let this be the key.

My fingers trembled as I pulled it free.

I slid it into the drawer lock and turned it.

The lock clicked.

The drawer opened.

Inside sat a red folder.

Nyah Rodriguezwas written across the front in big, bold letters.

My breath caught.