Gemotions

The antique clock on the mantelpiece ticked with an infuriating steadiness. It had been a gift from Mr. Abernathy, a parting gesture, she thought, as she glared at the empty office. She’d expected a letter, a phone call, something. Anything to acknowledge the years of tutelage, the countless hours spent poring over legal briefs. The old man, her champion, just vanished.

A vein throbbed in her temple. She slammed her fist on the polished desk, the sound echoing in the silent room. Empty. Just the remnants of his life here. A chipped mug, a half-eaten biscuit, and a note pinned to the corkboard that simply read: "Gone Fishing." Fishing? After all that? She felt a tightening in her chest, a knot of something she couldn't quite name.