Chapter 19
Jules
The phone rings a series of five times before he picks up on the other side.
It’s a strange ringing, one that sounds far away and in a tube, a product of how many avenues we have to go through just to have a phone conversation.
Everything is always encrypted. Everything is as far removed from tracking as possible on the off chance that our father is listening.
“Albie!” I sigh when I hear him on the other end softly say, “hello.” “Oh, how I’ve missed your voice.”
“Back at you, sis,” he replies, and I can hear his smile through the phone. “What are you up to this month?”
“You’ll never believe it,” I say, tapping at the keys on my keyboard. It takes a long time and a whole lot of patience, but I shoot a photo through to the burner phone of the mountains around us. “Check your message.”
I hear him shift around and the buttons click before he whistles. “That sure is a pretty sight. Reminds me of the Swiss Alps a bit, just smaller. Where are you?”
Normally, we’d never discuss that, but with how many avenues we’ve gone through, there’s no tracking this phone call.
Plus, Albie only talks in his bedroom with me, the one place my father’s lacking integrity won’t let him bug.
Mostly because if something were to get out, namely Albie’s delightful bedroom guests, it would taint the Ward name.
So, he only does it for the family interest, and not because he actually respects privacy.
“Wyoming,” I say. “A little ranch out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Nice. And how’s Genie?” he asks.
When I’d told him about her, he’d been ecstatic, and then immediately terrified. We’d agreed that no pictures were to be sent, but it’s been killing me that Genie doesn’t get to know her uncle. Albie would be an amazing uncle.
“Growing like a weed. She’s a year old now,” I murmur. “She’s as wild as you were when we were kids. You’d love her.”
“I already do,” he replies, the smile in his voice again. But then he lets out a puff of air. “I missed her birthday?”
“It’s not like the situation allows for sending presents,” I tell him gently. “I got her a small cake and let her smash it. When this is all over, I’ll show you all the pictures.”
His frustration echoes in the phone line. “This fucking sucks, Jules. I shouldn’t be missing my only niece’s life.”
“I know,” I reply. “I’m sorry. If there were any other way—”
“There’s not,” he replies. “Augustus has been circling, and honestly, if he knew you’d had a baby with someone else, or what you’re doing for money, he’d raise hell against you. And I don’t even want to think about what Father would do.”
“So, then we’re doing what we can,” I remind him. I hesitate. “I tell Genie about you. When you two finally meet, she’s going to know exactly who her Uncle Albie is. I show her pictures, and tell her stories—”
He clears his throat. “You really know how to choke your brother up, you know that, baby sis?”
“I’m the older twin,” I remind him on instinct. “Remember, baby brother?”
“Lies Mother told you to make you feel more important,” he fires back, just like old times.
As much as our childhood was a slew of cold nannies and lack of real hugs from our parents, I do miss the times I spent with Albie.
When we had nothing, we had each other. Always each other.
Being on the run affects him as much as me.
“What’s going on in the Ward Dynasty?” I ask hesitantly, not really wanting to know, but it’s important I keep up to date on what our father is doing.
The tone immediately changes from fondness to frustration. “He’s running for Senate again and finally gearing up for a presidential run after this next term. I think I don’t have to tell you what that would mean if he were president.”
“Of course,” I rasp. He’d have any means needed at his disposal to find me. We wouldn’t be able to stay in the country any longer.
“And he’s making me take over as CEO for Ward Co.,” Albie adds. “The transition happens in a few weeks.”
I blink at the sudden moisture in my eyes. “But that’s the war company. The one you didn’t want. Albie, what about your art?”
Albie is an amazing artist, a beautiful painter and sculptor. I have one of his paintings I’d managed to purchase online from a gallery after being sad I couldn’t bring any with me when I left. It’s the first thing I hang up in every new apartment.
“He made me give it up,” Albie murmurs, his voice so soft, I almost miss it. “Threw away all my paint, burned the canvases. I came home one day to find it all gone.”
My chest squeezes. “Oh, Albie—”
“It’s fine,” he interrupts. “It can all be replaced. It’s fine.” He repeats it like it’ll make him feel better, but I know that stuff meant everything to him. Years and years of work, of collecting supplies, gone. I hate it. I hate our father.
“You can always run away,” I whisper. “Come live with me and Genie.”
A rattling breath slips out of his lips and echoes down the phone line.
“Maybe,” he says, but it lacks any sort of commitment.
It would be dangerous for us to be together in some ways.
If he found one, he’d find the other. But maybe we can actually do this.
“Hey, baby sis. I gotta go. I’ll be late for a meeting. ”
“I’m the older one, remember?” I toss back again, but it lacks the usual teasing banter.
“Yeah,” Albie replies. “I know.” He shuffles around on the other line. “Love you, Jules. Stay safe, and give Genie a big hug for me.”
The line goes dead, and I’m left staring at the echo of my twin brother’s voice on the burner phone.