There were sirens, lights, people surrounding the building that Rumi Winslow called home, obviously wondering what had happened. Rumi was out when the break in happened, thank God she had spent the night away from home and hadn’t ventured back yet. She got a call from her building manager, apologizing profusely for the break in, telling Rumi that the police had been called and she needed to come home to make a statement. So many things was going through her mind on that ride home, and she was rudely greeted by the paparazzi. “Rumi where were you?” “Was this planned for publicity?” “Did you have anymore secrets that weren’t supposed to get out?” The questions were too much, she stayed silent as the doorman stepped out, protecting her from the flashes as they made their way into the building. She thanked him, then headed to her penthouse.
The elevator ride seemed to take decades, and when the doors opened there were cops crawling all over her house, along with the building manager. “Oh Rumi!” He exclaimed and she only gave him a glare as she walked further into her ransacked apartment. “Where the fuck was the security?” She asked, and the male stammered as her tried to make up some bullshit response to her. She looked up and down the apartment, through all six rooms. She noted missing items.
Caresse D’OrchIdées par Cartier Earrings: $11,100
Giuseppe Zanotti; Cruel Sparkle: $1,285
Dolce and Gabbana dress $6,995
Twenty thousand dollars was stolen from her, in worldly price. Things that they could sell, and make money off of. That’s not what Rumi was worried about. Among the missing things, she was missing a lock box that contained pills, syringes, cocaine, anything you could imagine. She didn’t tell the police that she was missing at least 900 dollars worth of drugs, because that would get her put in jail.
“Okay, Ms. Winslow. We need a police report from you.” The man’s heavy british accent almost made her roll her eyes. “Can you tell us where you were last night?”
“I was out clubbing, the I went home with a friend to have sex.” She spoke, nonchalantly, and he cleared his throat.
“Do you have any enemies that would want to steal from you, or spook you?” He asked, and she let out a dry chuckle.
“Sir, I have people who hate me.” She responded. “For one reason or another, it comes with the job.” She murmured, then sighed.
“I just want to get this over with, do you need anything else?” She asked him, and he looked through his notes. “I think that’s all, so long as you’ve listed everything that’s missing.” He spoke and she nodded. “That’s everything.” She lied through her teeth.
Once the police left, she went to her office. They might have stolen her vlog camera, but they didn’t take the one she kept in her office, which was strange because it was more expensive. She turned on her ring light, turned on the camera, and said her intro.
Two hours later, after talking and crying about the fact she was safe, she uploaded the video.
“MY HOUSE WAS BROKEN INTO!?! (not clickbait)”
And there she was, nearly emotionless. How could she care about material objects getting stolen? That was shallow. She lost money that she would make back in a few days - and could only up the security in her penthouse with camera’s and maybe invest in a trained dog to keep the place safe. Now all she was worried about was the drugs that had been taken. Who took them, and would they rat her out?
That would be dumb, considering the way they obtained the drugs, but people had balls. More balls than she expected.
