Chapter Twenty-Two #2
The room is full of my father’s colleagues and their wives or mistresses.
It’s hard to tell at these events, but I’ve been to enough to know that you never ask.
A simple, lovely to see you in passing usually does the job while keeping a sense of refinement.
Everything is either a show or a game. Every move and word is calculated with a purpose.
There’s no room for mistakes, no room for weakness.
High society is one big arena where everyone is out for blood, and no one is truly rooting for you.
The men wear suits and ties, while the women wear dresses and a polite smile.
As my heels click off the floor, I try to remember the time when I lived for these sorts of gatherings, but the memory feels as though it belongs to someone else.
By the time dinner is over, I’ve played my part, but instead of feeling a sense of self-satisfaction and superiority, I feel exhaustion and disdain.
More food and wine were served tonight than most can afford in a month, and dessert will be just as grand.
The conversations being held are nauseating, filled with pompous arrogance and a complete lack of respect for others.
As the hired waiters walk around and collect dishes, I thank them without thinking anything of it, but their startled expressions cause me to realize that no one else has.
While everyone waits for dessert to be served, the men retire to the library, and the women continue their conversations here in the dining room.
I sit and wonder how many times I’ve been in a chair like this, treating the wait staff as if they were invisible.
Shame fills me, sending heat up the back of my neck and making me nauseous.
I try to listen to the conversations happening around me, but it’s no use. I’m an outsider looking in.
I don’t belong here.
Not anymore.
I excuse myself and head for the ladies’ room, looking for a respite from this whole charade.
As I pass the library, the doors are ajar, and I overhear my father’s colleague asking about his pending case, piquing my curiosity.
I rest against the wall, listening and careful not to make a sound as I watch through the cracked opening.
“Seriously, Thomas,” my father’s colleague says, his speech slightly slurred from the bottles of scotch they’ve all been drinking. “How did you manage to get Mr. Arias to pay your bail? No one has even seen him since his own daughter handed in those incriminating files.”
“Easy,” my father says with an arrogant laugh before taking a sip from his glass. “Everyone has a price, and I know exactly what my innocence is worth to Mr. Arias.” My father clicks his teeth as he finishes his glass. “And now, so does Mr. Arias.”
A couple of smug laughs sound from around the room.
“You sound very sure of your innocence for a man facing so many heavy charges, Thorne.”
I can’t see the man’s face, but I recognize the tone of his voice as someone challenging my father’s authority.
As usual, my father remains composed, though he pulls on his sleeves before sitting on the corner of the desk like it’s his own, instead of a guest at a borrowed lake house.
“Everything comes down to what a lawyer can prove, and without a paper trail, that’s a whole lot of nothing.” My father smiles smugly, a confident air projecting off him.
“Or what a lawyer can convince a jury of,” the same man interjects. “You might be proven innocent, but there’s no telling if you’ll ever bounce back from this financially.”
My father barks a laugh, and the men shift in their seats.
“Gentleman, I did not build my empire on sand. Besides, they can’t touch money that doesn’t exist.”
There’s a pause, then a murmur of understanding spreads through the room.
“As usual, Thorne, you’re the standard by which the rest of us are measured. Cheers to you.”
The sound of glasses clinking together fills the room, so I don’t hear anyone approaching the door from the other side until it’s too late to hide, and a man steps out.
Startled, I try to remain composed and not give away that I’ve been listening. I smile as I realize the man before me is Mr. John DuPonce, Callie and Caiden’s father.
“My apologies,” I say, tilting my head down. “Almost walked right into you.”
“Tris.” He looks at me for a second too long, assessing me, before a smirk raises the side of his lips. “I didn’t realize the Thornes were capable of apologies, but it’s nice to see there’s hope for one of you.”
It’s a compliment I happily accept with a genuine smile. The first one I’ve worn all night.
“Thank you.” I grin while at the same time realizing it was Mr. DuPonce who challenged my father. It makes sense.
The DuPonces are built on integrity, and their fortune far surpasses the one my family had. It’s no wonder Mr. DuPonce said something. He’s the one man whom my father doesn’t have in his pocket. He’s about to walk away when a question dawns on me.
“Mr. DuPonce,” I say quietly, nodding for him to follow me further down the hall and away from the library. “What did my father mean by money that doesn’t exist?”
He grabs the back of his neck and breathes out, looking so much like his son it’s harder not to see it.
“You don’t want to get your hands dirty with any of this, Tris. Trust me. It’s not worth getting your family’s money back,” he says, sounding more sincere than he did in that room only a few moments ago.
“I don’t want my family’s money back.” The words are out of my mouth before I even realize I’ve said them, surprising both myself and Mr. DuPonce.
“Then what do you want, Tris?” His brows furrow, and he tilts his head.
“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly. “But I’d like to start by doing the right thing.”
He smiles down at me the way I’d imagine he’s looked at Callie countless times.
Like a father who is proud of his daughter.
It’s the first time anyone has ever looked at me like this, and it warms something in my chest. The weight I’ve been carrying no longer feels as though it’s going to crush me, but instead I feel stronger, like I’m capable of anything.
“That’s a good place to start,” he says, still smiling, before turning serious. “Without boring you with the gritty details of how, money that doesn’t exist is money that’s somehow been moved around until it’s no longer traceable or legally placed somewhere else.”
“Why would someone want to do that?” I ask, trying to understand.
“That’s a good question,” he says with a look over his shoulder toward the room where my father is. “Keep asking questions like that, and I think you’ll figure it out.”
I nod my head. “Thanks.”
I turn to walk away, but he places his hand gently on my shoulder, dropping it when he has my attention.
“Just be sure that you’re prepared for the answers you might find,” he warns gently, before walking away.
It’s a warning, that much I understand, but I can’t stop myself from chasing the truth, needing to know exactly if and why my father would hide money, and if he is, where is it now?
After being dropped off at home by one of my father’s hired chauffeurs, I toss and turn all night.
Going through everything I know about my father, every conversation I’ve had surrounding this case, until I’m so tired I’m passing out mid-thought.
I’m almost fully unconscious when my eyes burst open as it hits me. ..
“Oh, my God!”
“Listen, I know you both probably hate me, and after how awful I was the other day, I don’t blame either of you if you never want to speak to me again, but I could really use some help...”
I haven’t spoken to the girls outside of what’s necessary to do my job for almost a week now, but after my realization last night, I know I can’t do what’s next on my own.
“Hmmm, I reckon I didn’t hear an apology anywhere in there. Did you, Rory?” Ainsley asks, turning up her southern twang for emphasis.
“Nope,” Rory replies, popping the ‘p’ and placing her hands on her hips.
My shoulders drop, and I swallow my pride.
With them, it’s easy to admit that I was wrong, and if it means gaining their forgiveness, then I’ll apologize a hundred times over if that’s what it takes.
I gear myself up to grovel, taking a deep breath and wiping my hands on my apron before meeting both their expectant gazes.
“I’m sorry for how I spoke to you both. It was wrong and I—”
“Apology accepted,” Ainsley blurts, cutting me off with a smile.
“Wait, what?” My brows furrow, and my head jerks back. “That’s it? You both forgive me? Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Ainsley shrugs.
“I was all for making you grovel, really stretching it out, ya’ know? But with Friendsgiving being only a week away, we figured you might need our help with that, so there’s not really much time for basking in your turmoil.”
“Brat,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“Bitch,” Rory says with a lopsided grin, dipping her chin and raising a brow as if to say, "Tell me I’m wrong.
I shrug with a nod. She’s right.
“Plus, everyone fights, even sisters,” Rory says, elbowing Ainsley, whose smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I really am sorry,” I say softly, reaching for Ainsley’s hand.
When she turns her gaze back to me, her smile returns fully, and there’s nothing but love in her eyes.
“We know, Tris. It’s okay.” She squeezes my hand. “Now tell us what you need help with.”
“If it’s the turkey, I can’t help you. Sara only taught me how to make Uruguayan recipes and a few essentials, but anything past that, I’m useless.”
Chuckling, I roll my eyes. “No, it’s not the turkey, but this might be even more dangerous than watching you attempt cooking that.”
“Ooo, I’m intrigued. Go on.” Rory’s face lights up with mischief as she waits for me to explain.