Chapter 7
RJ
Clara and Trips are absent from school for the rest of the week.
Terrified, unable to verify that they’re even still alive, I take a risk, texting the unknown number Clara used last time, routing my message in such a way that I’m invisible. If the person on the other end knows anything about Clara, though, they’ll know it’s one of us. They’ll know it’s me.
It takes almost a full day, but I get a response on Saturday morning.
They’re alive. Locked up, but alive.
I call for Walker, and we stare at those words, a sob of relief aching in my throat.
More words come through, and I have to figure out what to do now that I’ve started a conversation with a stranger.
Who is this?
I guess I should say that I’m not Clara.
I know you’re not Clara.
The reply comes a second later.
I’m Mattie. I can be your inside woman, but I can only talk while I’m not at home.
Walker huffs out a laugh. “Big words for a little girl.”
“You’ve never had a sister. She’ll tell us everything, even things we don’t need to know.”
That would be great. Do you know when they’ll be able to return to school?
The chat stays empty for almost an hour, Walker pacing, charcoal-coated fingers leaving streaks down his jeans as he rubs his palms along them.
I spend the same wait building more of my case against Trips’ brother. It’s going to have to be airtight, and even then, there’s a good chance he’ll slip free.
He’s that kind of vermin.
Finally, another message pops up.
No idea. My father’s furious. So’s Archie. I’ve heard him scream a few times. Clara’s silent, though.
I’m not allowed to see either of them.
I’m trying to figure out how to reply when another message comes through.
He made Clara kill one of the guards. He made Archie and me watch. Trevor laughed.
It freaked me out.
Are you sure your girlfriend isn’t secretly an assassin or something?
There’s a pause as I try to take in the rapid-fire texts. Shit. Clara had to kill someone? I look at Walker, and the shared weight of our targetless anger hangs between us. Then he sheds his true emotions, pretending he doesn’t feel as deeply as we all know he does.
I let him.
If his mask keeps him moving forward, I’m not going to strip it from him.
Another text comes in.
Who am I talking to?
“This girl,” Walker gripes with mock annoyance.
I play along. “She’s fifteen. Give her some slack. How much caution did you have at that age?”
“Zero.”
“Exactly.”
This is RJ
There’s nothing for a while, and I assume she’s back home and under lock and key. I shoo Walker out and force myself to get a snack, but when I get back, there’s another message waiting for me.
Sorry. Boyfriend showed up.
Do you guys have a plan? Clara seems to think there’s one, but from where I’m standing, she’s just taking beating after imprisonment after semi-forced murder. So…plan?
Panic flashes in my chest at her casual mention of her boyfriend. I can’t have some random guy that none of us knows or trusts in the middle of this mess. Especially if we’re to the ‘killing people’ line on our list of contingencies.
Did you tell him about this? The boyfriend?
Westerhouse business stays in the family. Clara's Archie's family, and she's yours, so you're okay.
Good. Please keep this a secret.
No need to be bossy. You’ll remind me of Archie, and then I’ll have to give you shit.
I huff out half a laugh, every reaction of mine amped up higher than normal.
Understood. No bossing here.
Said like an older brother.
I laugh again. And because I am a big brother, I push a little more than I should.
Does this boyfriend have a name?
Not telling.
Secrets all around, then.
At least you know I can keep them.
She’s not wrong. But the secrecy has my intuition sparking. Although everything is making me paranoid at this point, so I’m not sure I should pay attention to it.
Then I hear Trips telling me to trust my gut, and I know I’m going to dig into whoever Mattie’s dating.
Not to control her, not after everything that girl has probably been through growing up in that family, but just to verify if I should still trust the niggling feeling that tells me something’s off.
Keep me informed when you can. And keep this phone hidden. It’s the only direct line we have into what’s going on there.
You still haven’t told me the plan.
You don’t need to know it. Just be there for Clara and your brother and keep me informed. The rest should play out around you.
If that changes, reach out.
Understood.
After a second, I add one last message.
Thanks, Mattie.
The chat goes silent, and while I’m relieved they’re alive, knowing that it’s barely November and we’re at the point in the plan where Clara’s had to kill someone? That’s not good.
I check the progress of the man in the middle attack Clara and Trips’ phones have been running from within the estate’s network. The phones each have a secondary battery and a Raspberry Pi hidden inside the phones themselves, keeping them powered while I gain access to their system.
Since I last checked, I’ve gotten a full connection not only to evil pedo brother Trevor’s data, but most of his father’s as well.
Which was the original goal, even if I now have a major side project to take on, too.
At least now I can finally access Papa Westerhouse’s calendar and emails, plus the passwords for several important sites and folders. Jackpot.
Hours later, I’ve dug deep into everything I have access to, flagging anything that might hobble the wily old bastard.
My list of evidence keeps getting longer, but with the power the man wields and the wealth he has at his fingertips, I’m worried there will never be enough dirt to put him behind bars.
Which is why we plan to add our own dirt to his pile, just to get the ball rolling.
Even then, it could be too little. The old man knows where all the bodies are buried and where all the blackmail is kept, but those bodies were buried by his orders, not by his hand.
And every bloodied hand has an old-school, physical piece of evidence locked in storage someplace.
Presumably, Clara now has a weapon locked down somewhere with her fingerprints on it.
There’s no way I’m going to let that stand.
We need to figure out where he keeps the blackmail. Searching his files hasn’t revealed the leverage’s location, which isn’t what we’d hoped for when we made this plan.
Because we need to steal the collateral to wipe the slate clean. Then, nobody has any reason to stay loyal to the monster. And if everybody working for him turns at once, he’s not a threat to any of us.
Intimidation can’t buy true loyalty.
But so far, nothing on their network tells me what I need to know. And even if I find where the evidence is hidden, it’s likely we’ll need Jansen at full strength to get in and out without our plan going up in smoke.
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my bleary eyes.
Jay’s better than he was, but the pain he’s in has magnified over the past week.
It isn’t unexpected, but it’s terrible to see.
His head was already all over the place, but being literally stuck in bed has been like watching a bird slam into a window over and over again, stunned each time it can’t make it through.
Yesterday, he asked for notebooks, as many colored pens and markers as we could find, and an old-school Poloroid camera. And we got them for him, because anything that distracts him has to be worth the effort.
Walker had him talk the facility into releasing his prescription, but they weren’t happy to hear that he was pulling himself from the program.
They explained to him exactly what could go wrong while his dosages are still being adjusted, and he promised he’d see another psychiatrist to help.
He’s on a waitlist with someone the clinic recommended, and all we can do is hope he’s able to walk by the time they tell him they have a space for him.
Running away is bad enough. Recovering from being shot while not having any hospital records detailing his injuries, well, it’s not going to convince his doctor he’s in the best mental state.
He withdrew from this semester of school yesterday, too.
Smart, not part of the plan, but necessary. Only that change means there’s even less to occupy his mind, which might yet be to his detriment.
I blink at my screen, willing it to show me everything I need to know. Maybe even the answer of how to get Jansen back to himself. Sadly, it’s not omniscient. None of us know what an empty plate might mean for Jansen’s stability.
Emma, meanwhile, told her professors she has a sick relative, so she’s taking her classes remotely.
None of us has told her she might be remote for the rest of the semester.
Every time she’s gone back to her apartment, Walker and I trail her, just to make sure she’s not taken.
We don’t have time for it, but neither of us wants to explain how Clara asking for help might have ruined her life even more than a broken heart already has.
The broken heart is bad enough. Apparently Evie, while not calling the cops on us, is not taking things well either. Emma’s happy to have a place to lie low for now and avoid the drama with her ex-girlfriend.
The doorbell rings, knocking me out of my silence. Walker’s footsteps on the stairs say he’s got it, but I force myself to join him, not wanting to be pulled away, but understanding that the buddy rule applies everywhere.
They took Clara and Trips from inside the house. Walker and I could have the same thing happen to us.
Officer Tom Reed stands outside our door, Walker’s hand white as he clenches the knob.
“You need to lay off,” he says, his voice lower than normal, force behind his words that I wasn’t expecting.
I stumble over the last few stairs, and after a stuttered heartbeat, I force myself to move on to the next part of the plan.