Mateo then turned to the home office, and was yet again shocked; the office looked as if it didn't belong to a white or blue collar. The bookshelves were neatly lined with dusty, thick textbooks and multiple file cabinets. Folders and files sprawled on the desk. Everything about the office furniture screamed expensive. A single piece of paper stood out amongst the pile, as it was the only one that was written by hand, and quite sloppily at that. Were such seemingly important people that bad at handwriting? Mateo snorted at the question as he raised the paper up to his eye level.
It was some kind of riddle: One day, the king awoke to find his crown had been stolen. Upon this discovery, he immediately sent every one of his guards to retrieve his stolen crown. It was eventually found, along with three potential suspects: the swordsmith Leafar, the maiden Helen, and the seamstress Ira. Upon interrogation, Ira blurted an accusation, "Helen stole the king's crown!". However, after the thief had confessed to their crime, the king took note that every one but the thief had lied.
"What the hell? Whispered Mateo. The handwriting, the confusing nature of the riddle, and the state of the house. Nothing felt right. It was getting increasingly unnerving. Mateo knew to pick up the pace.