Chapter 2 #2
“Absolutely priceless,” Cleo’s voice breaks. Her hands tremble, and she looks like she wants to sit down. “Holy hell. I… I had no clue he had anything like this…”
“No one knew. Mr. Blackthorn went to great lengths to be discreet about its existence. I never knew myself until the very end when I read the will.” Wilkes smiles. “He acquired it quite some time ago.”
I glance between them, my teeth grinding together.
“So, what then? He’s been sitting on someone’s old crown jewels?”
“You’ve never heard of the House of Fabergé? It’s legendary.” Cleo huffs quickly, throwing me a purple-hued glance out of the corner of her eyes like she can’t believe I’m not mesmerized by the magic object.
Sorry, Princess.
Finger painting with Kit was the extent of my art education.
“She’s right. They were world-renowned for designing these elaborate, jewel-crusted eggs for Russian royals,” Wilkes cuts in. “This particular egg has been lost for a long time. Mr. Blackthorn discovered it and ascertained its authenticity.”
“I can’t believe it,” Cleo whispers, shaking her head. “But how did he find it in the first place? Why did he keep it a secret? He could’ve put this in a museum.”
“I know you have questions. They’re all explained in a letter from Mr. Blackthorn himself. He asked that I deliver it to you once you’d seen the Hera Egg for yourself. Now that we’ve done that, you’re welcome to read it.”
Slowly, Cleo closes the lid and nods. “Okay. I’m terrified I’ll break this just by breathing.”
“It’s not as fragile as it looks. Please, allow me.
” The lawyer retrieves the box and places it back in the drawer.
“You’re welcome to leave it in the vault for now if you need a moment to collect yourself.
This house, and the vault, are open for your personal use until you decide how you’d like to proceed. ”
“Wow. I mean—” Cleo glances at Kit, then back at the egg. “Yes. Please. Thank you. I don’t think I’ll know for a while. I’ll have to do some research.”
“Certainly. Your grandfather knew you might not come to a rapid decision. That’s why he left these provisions in place for you.” Her eyes flick to me.
Fuck, what provisions?
Cleo scrubs at her cheeks, all her arrogance gone. “Do you have the letter? Can I see it?”
Nodding, Wilkes smiles and reaches into her pocket and retrieves a small cream envelope. “Please take your time, Miss Blackthorn. Cleo.”
She gives back a tiny, nervous smile as she accepts the letter.
Without another glance, she exits the room, clutching the letter against her chest.
“Oh my God, this is amazing,” Kit says, breaking the silence as I stare numbly at the drawer. “I can’t believe you have the missing Hera Egg here. Dad, why didn’t you ever tell me your boss was this cool?”
Of course, she knows what this thing is all about, adorable little book nerd she is.
“Go ahead, Kit. Enlighten me.”
“It’s been missing for over a hundred years. They think it was stolen or destroyed, but nothing was ever proven. It’s had a ton of forgeries pop up over the years, too. They always turned out to be fake.”
“How do you absorb all this information?” I ask, ruffling her hair. “Where does it all go?”
“It sticks to my brain, Dad. Only when it interests me. You remember that Anastasia kick I was on a couple years ago?”
How could I forget? She only picked it for every movie night for three solid months. I had Bartok the bat’s lines damn near memorized.
She looks up at me, her little eyes sparkling like they do when she talks about books.
“I can’t believe I got to see it in real life. This is bonkers.”
“Save it,” I say. “You weren’t even supposed to be here today. If Mom didn’t have an appointment and it wasn’t such short notice, I would’ve dropped you off.” I look at the lawyer. “You just needed me for due diligence, Miss Wilkes? A little extra security for the vault?”
The lawyer looks down.
“Not exactly.” She hands me another letter. “This should suffice to explain everything.”
Shit.
Even though I knew this was coming, I want to set it on fire.
Whatever’s in there can’t be good.
Leonidas Blackthorn doesn’t have a great track record with letters from beyond the grave. Just ask the rest of the family.
The paper feels weirdly heavy as I pinch it. The old man never did half measures. From the feel alone, it’s too thick to be a simple termination letter.
Unless it has cash in it, too.
But that’s not his style.
He’d be more likely to set up a bank transfer. Or a trust, if I were one of his kids or nieces or whatever the hell Cleo was to him. And even if he was that generous, I’m far too old for that. If he left me any bonuses, they’d be direct payments.
“The terms are rather clear, I think,” Wilkes says calmly. “Of course, if you have any questions, I’d be more than happy to answer. Just let me know.”
Terms.
This vault suddenly feels as claustrophobic as a submarine.
So this isn’t severance pay, and the fact that she’s handing out these letters doesn’t fill me with optimism.
I huff out a long breath.
There’s always been a draft in this basement, especially this room, making it easier to detect body heat. Never bothered me when I worked here alone, keeping up with the security, but it sure as hell does now.
“Kit, let’s go outside.”
My daughter makes a small sound of disappointment.
Wilkes gives her a warmer smile than any I’ve seen on her so far. “He’s right, you know. There are no lasers here,” she says. “We’ve seen the exciting part.”
“The egg was beautiful,” Kit says.
“It is exciting,” she agrees. “However, it’s also legally the property of Miss Blackthorn, so we can’t touch it again.”
By ‘we,’ she definitely means Kit. I appreciate the way she’s handling the situation, even if I don’t have time for the niceties.
Goddamn unbelievable.
“Come on.” I take Kit’s hand in mine and lead her back up the stairs. Wilkes locks up the vault behind us, and the outer door clicks shut with a little hiss. I pause just long enough to make sure all the security measures are back in place.
Old habits.
Once we’re back on the landing by the basement stairs, I see Cleo curled up in a chair by a window alcove.
For a second, my brain flashes back to when she was a kid, curled up in the same way with her sketch pad, before she grew into that body.
Back then, it was the one time I never had to worry about chasing her down. When she was lost in her own world, she wasn’t a headache, safely sealed in her own imagination.
Then the world snaps back into place, and the white streak Cleo’s dyed in her hair whips me into the present.
She’s not the same girl she was then, and I’m not her keeper. Also, it’s not some obscure art book or a sketch pad in her hands, but a letter.
She’s reading it with a drawn face and wide eyes bristling with tears.
No need to intrude on her privacy.
Wilkes gestures back to the library. “Would you like a tour, Miss Verity?”
Kit barely notices as I slip out the side door. No one ever calls her Miss Verity, and I guess she loves it.
Again, Wilkes’ instincts are flawless. It’s easy to see why Mr. Blackthorn left her in charge of his estate.
The envelope has the weight of an encyclopedia in my hand as I step into the courtyard. I worked here for over a decade, but this feels like a whole new place today, dreary under the wind and slate-grey skies.
Like it or not, I’ll have my answers soon.
That’s what I wanted anyway.
The last year has been damnably uncertain for too long.
I rip it open, shearing off the top. It takes me less than a minute to read it.
Then I read it again and my gut sinks to my ankles.
Mother-fuck!
Snarling, I tear the letter in half, glaring up at the sky.
“What did I do? What fucking shit did I do to deserve this?”
No answer.
I just hear a familiar, low chuckle in my own mind. The same laugh I’d hear from the old man when he’d read by the fire, lost in some old book.
It’s worse than I imagined—and this nail-eating assignment starts today.
So much for any hope that he’d tie things up neatly and send me on my merry way.
So much for hoping I’d never have to deal with Nile and her bullshit again.