I glanced at Sasha and Samuel. Something about this situation felt off—an eerie sensation settled in my gut, whispering that there was more to uncover.
"Sasha, any evidence from the kitchen?" I asked, trying to focus despite the weight of unease.
She stepped forward, her expression serious as she carefully revealed the contents of a plastic bag—a dead cat and a small, tarnished pendant. She placed them on my desk with a precision that seemed almost reverent.
Meanwhile, Samuel stood awkwardly in the corner, gripping a garbage bag with both hands as if it contained something sacred—or dangerous. His normally jovial demeanor was replaced by a tight-lipped grimace.
"What's in the bag, Samuel?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
His shoulders stiffened. "It's just oranges," he said hastily, his voice unusually high-pitched. "Nothing else. Just oranges."
Sasha snorted at the absurdity of his defensiveness. I couldn't help the corner of my mouth twitching—Samuel guarding a bag of oranges like it was state treasure was, frankly, hilarious.
"Let's see these precious oranges," I said dryly, reaching into the bag.
Beneath the smooth citrus skins, my fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. Frowning, I pulled out a small, rusty key.
"Oranges, huh?" I held the key up for emphasis.
Samuel flushed, his lips twitching as though he was about to make a joke but thought better of it. "I—uh—must've missed that. Honest mistake," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Sasha raised an eyebrow, smirking at his weak excuse, but I wasn't laughing anymore. The key felt like a missing puzzle piece.
"Where'd you get the oranges, Samuel?" I asked, though I suspected the answer.
"Off the tree outside," he admitted sheepishly. "They were just sitting there. Look, fruit prices are insane right now. Thought I'd save a buck."
"And this?" I gestured to the key.
He shrugged, avoiding my gaze. "I guess it was tied to a branch or something. Didn't notice."
I sealed the key and the pendant in evidence bags, filing them away in my mental ledger. They were small things, but small things had a way of becoming big things in cases like these.
Samuel seemed relieved when I handed back the bag of oranges, his tension easing as he peeled one and popped a segment into his mouth.
"Samuel reached into the bag again, his hand moving like he was handling fragile treasure. "You sure, Loren? Cassandra's perfect oranges—sweeter than anything you'll find at the market, promise."
I eyed the fruit with the same suspicion as before. "I'll take your word for it," I said dryly. "Something about those perfect oranges doesn't sit right with me."
Samuel grinned, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "It's just fruit, man. You act like she dipped them in poison."
He tucked the orange in my pocket despite of my previous refusals.
I ignored him, focusing instead on a peculiar object I'd grabbed from Cassandra's coffee table earlier. It was an hourglass—decorative but strange. The bubbly liquid inside shifted hypnotically, casting distorted shadows on my desk.
"What's that?" Samuel asked, his curiosity piqued as he sucked on an orange slice.
"Something that felt... off," I replied. "Same reason you grabbed the oranges."
He chuckled, though his humor didn't quite reach me this time.
Before I could examine the hourglass further, Sasha interrupted, hurrying over with a folded newspaper clutched in her hand.
"Sir, you need to see this," she said breathlessly.
I unfolded the tabloid, my pulse quickening as I read the headline.
The Dahm Times
Cassandra Cottingham: A Saviour Under Siege
By Henry Delon, Investigative Journalist
In a world rife with corruption and greed, Cassandra Cottingham stands out as a beacon of hope. A renowned ophthalmologist and philanthropist, she has spent her life fighting for those in darkness—both literally and metaphorically. Yet, recent allegations threaten to tarnish her stellar reputation.
Dr. Cottingham, celebrated globally for her revolutionary treatments in ocular medicine, has brought light to countless lives. Her innovations have not only saved the sight of thousands but have also paved the way for new advancements in treating rare eye diseases.
Beyond her groundbreaking work, Cassandra has given generously to charities, funding eye clinics in underserved areas and supporting orphanages with unwavering compassion. For years, she has been the voice of the voiceless, exposing the rot in the medical world, including a harrowing exposé on illegal organ trafficking—a feat that earned her enemies in powerful places.
But now, the very forces she fought against seem to have turned on her.
Recently, the media has been ablaze with reports of unsettling discoveries at her Beverly Hills residence. Evidence, including preserved eyes in jars, has led to wild speculation about her involvement in sinister activities. However, close associates and experts in the field have been quick to defend her.
"The jars are nothing more than preserved specimens used for medical research," says Dr. Eleanor Grayson, a colleague and fellow researcher. "Cassandra has always been transparent about her work. These accusations are a gross misunderstanding of scientific practices."
Supporters point to the timing of these allegations, coinciding suspiciously with Cottingham's ongoing fight against illegal organ trafficking networks. Could this be a smear campaign orchestrated by those she's exposed?
Even amidst the storm, Cassandra remains composed. "My work has always been about healing and helping," she stated in an exclusive interview. "I've faced challenges before, but I believe the truth will prevail."
Her patients, many of whom owe their sight and livelihood to her, echo this sentiment. "Dr. Cottingham gave me my life back," says Rachel Abbott, a single mother who underwent a life-saving surgery under her care. "The idea that she could harm anyone is absurd."
While the investigation continues, those who know Cassandra best remain steadfast in their support. They describe her as a woman of unyielding integrity, someone whose dedication to her craft and to humanity is unparalleled.
"She's not just a doctor; she's a savior," says Tim Callahan, director of the Vision for All Foundation, one of the many charities funded by Cottingham.
As the public watches the story unfold, one question looms large: Is Cassandra Cottingham a victim of a targeted campaign, or is there more to the story than meets the eye?
For now, all we can do is wait—and remember that even the brightest lights can cast long shadows.
Cassandra Cottingham's legacy of hope and healing deserves more than rushed judgment.