Heartless Legacy (Heartless Heirs of Canyon Falls #4)

113. Pax

Chapter 113

Pax

H olden enters the bunker, looking like he’s running on fumes. He nods in response to my greeting and goes straight to the computer. I watch as he accesses his cloud drive and opens a few folders, arranging them in neat rows across the screens.

Before he’s finished setting up, Finn walks in and announces, “I know what they are.”

Holden and I share a look, and I ask, “What are we talking about?”

“The documents from Garnet. I know what they are.” He frowns. “Or what they were. They’re pages from charge books.”

I tell him, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Charge books are accounting ledgers, but they weren’t used for general accounting information for a household or business. The entries are league specific notes and instructions and financial data. The books were in the custody of the head of the family line until they passed it on to the next generation. It’s like the original challenge item. You had to keep it safe and protected from other league members. If you lost possession of it, you got fined.”

I stand in awe of all that information he just rattled off. “How did you come up with that?”

“I just came from the archives. There's an entire chapter on them, but the physical copies of the books aren’t used anymore. The financial transactions and sanctions are all automated now.”

“You told me the book you turned into the vault was like the picture from the fire.” Holden says, pulling up the photo.

“It was.”

Holden asks, “If these charge books are supposed to be in the custody of the family lines, what was someone in Connecticut with no league affiliation doing with one? And how come we’ve never heard of this or seen one of these books before?”

Finn says, “It’s probably another one of those things they don’t tell us until we’re in a higher year group.”

I check my watch and get to my feet with a groan. “Sorry to dip out on you guys, but I have dinner with my parents tonight. I’ll check in with you afterwards.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I mumble to myself as I approach the door. Am I remembering things correctly? I might not be, since I try to not to think about anything connected to that party. But I force myself to think about it now.

That morning, my grandmother took me to a warehouse housing a bunch of crates with stuff from my great-grandfather’s estate. She was going through it and picking out things to donate to one of the charity auctions. There was a crate full of books, with leather-bound covers. I’m almost certain one had gold embossing and looked like that picture.

I don’t want to mention it to my friends until I know for certain. My grandmother says the items are all on loan to museums or the historical foundations around the country, with the exception of the rare book collection, which she gave to my father.

My dad has a place where he keeps rare finds, like the challenge items he’s never turned in. The room hidden in the wine cellar of our cabin requires his fingerprint to open the door. After Holden’s abduction attempt, we spent plenty of hours learning how to dust for fingerprints. His father gave him a latent print kit and evidence bags, along with a courier account to have them sent off to his dad for analysis. Any time a substitute teacher we didn’t recognize showed up at school, or someone new showed up in the pickup line, we’d be dusting for prints.

I break out that skill now, as I swipe the brush over the Balvenie bottle. When the thumbprint appears, I apply the tape, carefully peeling it away from the glass to keep it from smudging. Then press it against the card-stock to transfer it, before sealing it in a plastic bag.

“Oh, you’re here.” My mother says, looking surprised to see me.

“It’s a negotiation dinner. I didn’t know I was allowed to skip it.”

“And where is Eloise?,” She asks.

“I assume she’s with her parents, going over last-minute details, like I hoped to do with dad.”

“Well, your father’s delayed at the office.” She purses her lips as if trying to keep from commenting further. He’s probably delayed with someone from the secretarial pool. I feel bad for my mother. Nobody deserves this.

I notice the hypocrisy in that thought because if anyone asks me if I can guarantee I’ll be faithful to Eloise, today the answer is no.

I left campus right after breakfast to come to the cabin. I’ve searched every inch of this secret room. The only reading material in here is a first edition copy of Moby Dick. As I’m returning the book to its place on the shelf, my hand knocks against a bust of Julius Cesar. It slides an inch, revealing a switch on the wall.

I press the switch, gears spin, and the wall panel slides away, revealing a second room containing tables and shelves full of documents, books, and spreadsheets. I walk over to the stack of books in the center of the room, picking up the one on the top. Opening it, I read the inscription on the first page, right above the league motto.

The amount listed here-in meets the threshold for recognition, and having passed the challenges set before him is hereby appointed a member of The Circle.

An Unkind Family Disappoints, Treacherous Friends Betray,

A Conspiracy to Offer a Bond

That cannot be Severed, Forsaken, or Changed

Turning to the first page with an entry, I read the dollar amount and the task assigned to it. Closing the book, I return it to the table and circle the room, thumbing through two more books with the same inscription and different accounting entries, before coming to a stop in front of some kind of workstation. On it is a leather cover bound book with my family’s name on it. The inscription inside reads just like the others.

Right next to it is a copy of Moby Dick. How many of these damn books does my dad need? I flip the cover to see which edition it is. Inside is hollow, with a cutout section containing ledger pages wrapped in ribbon inside. I pull the papers free and untie the ribbon, flipping through the first few pages.

The wording is significantly different from the other books, but the dates ink stamped underneath are the same. Why does my father have so many copies of these ledgers?

I drive slower than usual, heading back to town, not wanting to risk getting pulled over with the things I have in my possession. My first stop is Holden’s room.

When he answers the door, I admit, “I lied to you.” Then quickly explain, “You asked why we’d never seen or heard of these charge books, but that’s not true. I’d seen one before.”

“When?”

“My grandmother had a warehouse full of things from my great-grandfather’s estate. There was a stack of books and she told me to pick a few to give as a birthday gift to Jason Igor.” Meeting Holden’s gaze, I let him see what I don’t seem to have the guts to say. That kidnapping attempt happened to him, but it was traumatic for me, too.

I take a shaky breath before continuing. “The ledger was mixed in with other leather-bound books, all collector’s editions, but it was the only one that didn’t have a title. I opened it, and there was a piece of paper with a poem I didn’t understand on the first page. I closed it right away.”

As I hand him the book I took from the cabin, he asks, “It was still in your grandmother’s possession?”

“No. I found it at the cabin in my father’s secret room.”

“This one was hidden inside a fake copy of Moby Dick. There were a few other charge books in his room, but this is the only one without a cover. I’m hoping we can figure out who it belongs it, why the inscription is different, and why my father hid this one away and not the others.”