Fifty-Two
IDON’T JOIN EVERYONE ON THE DANCE FLOOR. INSTEAD, I EXCUSE myself to go find Cass.
I enter the house. In the night, its silence is haunting. The fine furniture has the reserve of unused objects. As if it’s waiting without knowing what for. Past the now-closed French doors, the muffled music pulses in warped throbs.
I do not continue upstairs to my room, where I left Cass. Slowly, calmly, I walk down the hall to the study.
The lights from the disco ball shine in the windows, painting me in dark blue. When I reach for the doorknob, my fingers do not waver. I open the door, and I’m unsurprised to find Cass standing in front of the open safe.
She’s changed back into her own clothes. It makes her imposing in ways it’s difficult to describe. While pretending has its utility, looking like yourself signifies strength. Power.
My voice is steady, my question sure. “Why did you really come here today?”
Cass whirls. The delicate gears of meshing mechanisms move in her eyes. I’ll give her credit—she’s very fast.
“Olivia, hey. I was just making sure—”
I hold up a hand to silence her. “Spare me the lies,” I say. I shut the door behind me. The latch of the lock resounds into the room. My pace leisurely, I walk to one of the leather couches and sit, folding my hands in my lap. “What I want to know,” I go on, “is why you actually wired the money. If you were here to betray me, why not just fail to do your job?”
The change in Cass now is slow. Her face shifts into something I don’t recognize. Gone is the girl who opened up to me in my bedroom, who supported me and shared glances with me all day. In her place is a stranger.
She straightens. Her chin rising, she looks down on me. “How did you figure it out?” she asks with deathly patience.
I unzip my clutch. I returned my crew’s phones to them earlier—inside the bag, only one phone remains except for mine. I swiped it at the check-in desk while the guard was handling my necklace. Jackson’s. When I toss the phone to Cass, the East Coventry High sticker reflects the light.
She catches it, her eyes widening with realization.
It’s gratifying. I feel as if I’ve wrenched a few gears out of her incessant mental machines. “If Lexi hadn’t sent us on that wild-goose chase, I would never have put it together,” I remark. “I guess I owe her one. But it was just too coincidental. Jackson was framed for cheating in the same way you suggested we frame Dash for Lexi.”
I put together the pattern when Jackson showed me the message. He wouldn’t have unless he legitimately didn’t know they were there, which would be the case only if he didn’t send them. Before returning to the wedding, I checked my bank account, fearing the worst. The money had been there, though. I disregarded the question while we dealt with more immediate threats, although it was why I never particularly feared the security sweep apprehending Cass.
Cass lowers her hand holding the phone. I wait, expectant. With the study’s heavy door separating us from the rest of the house, no music pervades the inner sanctum. Our confrontation’s ornamented cage is whisper-hushed.
“Oops,” Cass finally says. She shrugs, unbothered.
“I started thinking,” I go on, not interested in indulging childish sarcasm. “Why would you break up me and my boyfriend?”
Cass crosses her arms. “Clearly you’ve figured it out,” she prompts me, meeting my impatience with her own.
“You’re the one who named me King. You shouldn’t be surprised,” I chastise. “The obvious explanation didn’t fit. It’s not like you wanted to get with Jackson yourself. You haven’t even looked at him the entire day. Which meant your target was the other person in the relationship. Me.”
She says nothing. It’s confirmation enough. She grips the phone, glaring.
“You made it clear on multiple occasions how easily you can and have hacked my phone,” I go on. “You read my DMs to him, didn’t you?” I remember what she said to me over the phone on my way to the safe. There wasn’t someone who cheated on her. She wasn’t commiserating. She was… gloating. Glorying in the reminder of what she’d wrought.
The venom in her stare flattens into resolve. It is a look without regret. “You were on the verge of giving up the heist,” she explains. “All for him. His account was laughably easy to hack. Password newgirl with his jersey number.”
I revel in my deductions even while the pain of yet another betrayal is quietly ripping me up on the inside. Just when I was ready to trust, to let people in. I can’t dwell on it right now. Right now is for why.
I put the question to her directly. “Why did you need me to go through with it if you were going to betray me in the end?”
“Have I betrayed you?” she replies. Her posture is poised, wound tightly. She doesn’t look uncomfortable, however. It’s like the edge is home to her.
“You’re here for the handcuffs, right?” I ask. “In the safe, I mean.”
She grins and pulls the handcuffs from her back pocket. I knew their presence was suspicious the moment I saw them. If Dash possessed something to defend himself with, I’d have found a gun inside with the watches, heirlooms, and gold jewelry.
Handcuffs aren’t dangerous enough to be locked up. What if they weren’t hidden to defend oneself against potential intruders? What if… they were left for someone to use? Right now? What if someone—somehow—knew I was coming? What if I wasn’t the only person planning ahead for my heist? What if others were maneuvering just like me?
I stand. Figuring everything out feels like stretching every muscle at once. I walk to the safe, where I pull out my father’s will. I speak softly, knowing my opponent is hanging on to every word. “I started wondering. Maybe Abigail Pierce isn’t someone Dash had an affair with. Maybe she’s the product of an affair. A daughter.”
Cass goes very still. I circle her, then position myself in front of her to look her right in the face. The color has fled her skin. Her eyes have gone from gears to knives.
“Abigail Pierce,” I repeat. “The girl you conveniently couldn’t find online, because you didn’t need to, did you? Because she was already at the wedding. Already in my crew.”
She meets my gaze. I’m staring at my reflection in a shattered mirror.
I hold my hand out.
“Hello, sis,” I say.