Ulterior Motives
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Senior (55+)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
This is from ulterior motives, by Amy Hail Jacob Manchester said at his desk and rubbed his throbbing temples. His thoughts had been spinning all night, and now it seemed the room was destined to do the same. He knew it had to be the whiskey, and he was disgusted with himself for drinking to such excess. Once again, Jacob knew the news he'd gotten this evening wasn't excuse enough to drown himself in several tumblers of Jack Daniels, But then it never felt he needed an excuse. He was sure by now his liver was good and pickled. Regardless, something important was nagging at the back of his mind, and he just couldn't seem to snag it back into coherent thought. The letter he'd found today wasn't exactly clear, but it was enough evidence to know that he should be very careful about who he trusted. He looked around his well furnished office, hoping to find the object of his misery, but he wasn't completely sure what he had done with it. All his fuzzy brain could manage was that the offending object was missing. He leaned back in his expensive leather chair and closed his eyes. The folder What the **** did I do with the folder? He was concentrating on that train of thought when a knock sounded at the door. Jacob lean forward and placed his head in his hands, thinking he had imagined the irritating sound. Manchester Aviation was hustle and bustle until about 6 p.m. And then all would be quiet. He glanced at his watch and realized it was almost 11 30. No one else should be here at this hour. He heard the knock again. ****, who could that be? He said to the frame photo of his late wife, perplexed, and he frowned down at his day planner as he heard the office door open and close, muttering to himself about a lack of privacy, he looked up from his desk. That nagging feeling became stronger. It almost screamed at him. Yet all he could do was stare at the man standing before him. Finally finding his voice, he grumbled, What do you want? Better be good, because I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now. The man simply smiled, but said nothing. Jacob became irritated immediately. He managed to slur out. Don't stand there and look at me like an idiot. What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy? The visitor sat down opposite Jacob and flipped open a Manila file folder. Still not having said a word, Jacob's eyes opened wide as he stared at the folder. What are you doing with that? He snapped As he reached for the papers. The visitor quickly pulled them out of reach and shook his head. Now, now, Jacob, we don't want anything to happen to all your hard work. It's best you let me handle these. You aren't exactly lucid right now. The man rose from the chair and circled the room. The folder tucked beneath his arm. You've been a busy man all these years. I'm impressed with how much information you have managed to find. There was so little to go on after your wife was murdered. Yet you've continue to pursue the truth. Jacob felt the familiar sting of tears begin to form. I loved her so much, and she was taken from us too soon. How could I just give up? He stood and walked to the window overlooking his private airstrip from his third floor office. He could see most of the complex, and he always thought it was a beautiful view. His late wife, Mary, had landscaped around every building as if it were her own private garden. The roses were beginning to bloom, and the smell of rain had been prominent in the air all day. Of course, Now all he could see where the solar lights bathing the walkways and a soft glow. But he could envision it all in his mind. Soon. The entire complex would be a bright and cheery reminder of all of Mary's hard work, despite the fact that he had hired someone to tend to the small gardens and she'd passed on, they were still Mary's roses, and they always would be breaking from his thoughts. Jacob turned to face the man who is now sitting in his chair with his feet, arresting on the desk. Why do you have my wife's file again? He asked in a suspicious tone. That nagging feeling was a strong as ever. I just want to help, that's all. Jacob. You deserve to know the truth, and I intend to see you get it. Jacob stared at the man for several moments. Not sure why something seems so wrong about this whole situation. To him, it had to be the whiskey. He figured it served him right for drinking too much. He knew this would probably have made a lot more sense to him if he were sober. I appreciate the help, not tonight and just need to sleep. We could talk more tomorrow while I'm nursing a well deserved hangover. With a nod, the visitor rose from the desk chair and strode toward the door file folders still in hand before he exited. He gave Jacob one last look and then walked away without another word. An ominous feeling began to overtake Jacob s. He once again set behind his desk. Small bits of his earlier revelations were taking shape. Someone he knew had killed Mary Jacob would know more once he talked to the handwriting analysis company. It was a long shot, but it was all he had. It seemed there was just one last piece of the puzzle to put into place, and he almost had it