I'm hoping to find slutty lingerie.

You enter the closet, which seems oddly small for such a large master bedroom. Sure, it's a walk-in closet, and sure there are his suits and shoes and sweaters and all of the ordinary things you'd think a rich man would have, but it's only like an ordinary-sized closet.

*ba-da-DUM-de-DUM-de-DUM-de-DUM---DAH*

You fish out your cell phone from your pocket, it says "HEWITT ESTATE", which seems pretty important, so you turn it on and swipe up, but for some reason the lights in the closet are flickering and face recognition doesn't work.

So you enter the PIN code but as soon as you do, the caller hangs up.

Weird.

Back to the closet, you look around wondering where he kept his lingerie. After all, you know what he was wearing when he died. You felt it. You stroked it against your cheek and you sniffed it (like a perv).

So you *know* he must have at least a stash of underwear somewhere!

Just then, you notice a smudge on the molding in the back. You inspect it closely. It's clearly a secret button of some sort.