A Game Called Chaos Read Online Free

with you after we talk to Rosenberg—and Royal.”
    Joe tossed Winters’s keys to Chelsea on the way out. He and Frank made their way from the building to their van. A glance from Joe as they passed told Winters that he’d better stay put. The rival designer leaned his chin on his fists and fumed.
    Driving quickly but carefully, Frank and Joe arrived at the offices of Wondersoft nine minutes later. It was a five-story building that looked as though it had been constructed in the nineteen twenties. Like most of the buildings in Jewel Ridge, it showed signs of recent renovation. A tastefully painted sign on the glass of the front door read, Wondersoft. The Hardys dashed inside and past the guard at the door.
    â€œMr. Rosenberg’s expecting us,” Frank said.
    â€œWe’re here on behalf of Steven Royal,” Joe added.
    The guard nodded them past, and the Hardys made their way to the elevator bank at the center of the lobby. A sign there told them Rosenberg’s office was on the top floor. They called the elevator and rode it up.
    When they got off, they found themselves in a reception area, but the desk was deserted. Through an open door beyond the desk, they saw a balding, middle-aged man talking on the phone and smoking a cigar. He took the phone from his ear and stared at the brothers as they entered the room.
    â€œMr. Rosenberg?” Joe said, addressing the man. “I’m Joe Hardy, and this is my brother, Frank. We’re here to talk to you about Steven Royal.”
    Rosenberg put down the phone. “The guard said you were on the way up. Where’s Royal? He was supposed to be here an hour ago. Why didn’t he come?”
    â€œWe were hoping you could tell us,” Frank said. “We expected to meet him here with you.”
    Rosenberg took a pull on his cigar. “That Royal is a pain. If he weren’t a genius, I’d never put up with him.”
    â€œSo, you have seen him,” Joe said.
    â€œNot recently. I just got an e-mail from him this morning . . . Say, if you guys are with him, you should know that.”
    â€œWe never said we were with him,” Frank said. “We just said we were here to talk to you about him.”
    Rosenberg stood up behind his oak desk. “Who are you guys?” he demanded.
    â€œWe told you our names,” Joe replied. “But if you’re asking us what we’re doing here, we’re waiting for Steven Royal, same as you.”
    â€œWe’re investigators, working on a problem Royal’s having with his present employer,” Frank said.
    â€œPolice?” Rosenberg said, cocking the cigar to the side of his mouth.
    â€œPrivate investigators,” Joe said.
    Rosenberg sat back down in his padded leatherchair and blew smoke. “Then I don’t have to talk to you, do I?”
    â€œThat depends on who you’d rather talk to—the police or us,” Frank said. “I’m sure the boys in blue will be happy to stop by here once they finish up at Royal’s condo.”
    Rosenberg leaned forward and frowned. “What are the police doing at Royal’s place?”
    â€œOh, sorry. We must have forgotten to tell you,” Joe said, “Somebody broke into Royal’s place and tossed his stuff. And since Royal’s out of town, and since you were the last person to hear from him, I’m sure the police will want to talk to you.”
    â€œOkay, look,” Rosenberg said, “I don’t know anything about any break-in. All I know is I got an e-mail from Royal this morning, saying maybe he’d consider coming back to Wondersoft—if I made him the right offer. But, like I said, he never showed up. How was I to know he was out of town? Maybe the e-mail wasn’t really from him. People are using the Internet to play pranks all the time.”
    â€œCould be,” Frank said. “Maybe we could figure it out if you showed the note to