Chapter 59
Quill
Old Money
We had been silent the entire car ride, and I had almost burst into tears when she had said to me at the car in front of the Fitzek estate, “Please give me time, Quill.”
I had expected her to end our friendship on the spot, and a treacherous twinge in my chest made me regret more and more having confided in her how deeply I had sunk mentally that summer.
If I hadn't told her... we wouldn't be friends anymore.
I had nodded silently, staring after her as she hurried down the gravel path toward the huge estate.
My first impulse had been to get back in the car and drive somewhere, but there had been this fear that I might come across a bridge. And that was the last thing that could happen.
Money, Money, Money
ABBA
Determined not to show these people inside there a single tear, I rubbed my hands over my shivering arms and hurried up the long staircase through a crowd of well-heeled women in luxury dresses and gentlemen in the finest Italian suits, entering the entrance hall of the Fitzek estate with my head held high.
Butlers took some guests' coats, pointing to one of seven passageways, and I followed an elderly couple in front of me into the huge hall filled with people, through which pleasant string music drifted.
The smell of expensive perfume hung in the air. Loud laughter echoed off the white marble walls.
This place was far too impressive to be real. Far too beautiful to belong to a family of covert supporters of fascism.
Nevertheless, I allowed my gaze to wander over the three huge glittering diamond chandeliers that adorned the hall-sized foyer.
Orange trees stood enthroned between tables laden with towers of champagne glasses, around which laughing guests gathered to watch as servants let the champagne flow down the glasses, filling them gradually with the transparent, sparkling gold, without leaving a single drop behind.
More guests passed me at the huge double entrance door.
Some gave me interested glances, but I was too focused on all the stimuli around me, on the servants who were either handing out glasses, collecting them, or offering hearty salmon caviar canapés that I had never seen before, not even at my father's events.
In one corner of the hall, on a pedestal with steps, a small orchestra played classical music.
Why was I not surprised that the director of Maplecrest hosted such events?
When a gap briefly opened up in the crowd, I caught a glimpse of one of the champagne tables, where four faces stared at me as if I were a leper.
Jessica McLoy, in her silver satin dress, laughed immediately and patted Lucas – who was glaring at me as if he were thinking about ways to get rid of me without ruining his family's gold business – on the shoulder before leaning against him.
My half-sister, dressed in a dark green chiffon dress, on the other hand, didn't bat an eyelid, staring at me with lifeless eyes, as did Zach next to Lucas, who also looked as if he were plotting my murder.
Overwhelmed and unwilling to let my surprise at this alliance of the elite show, I let my gaze wander past chatting guests engrossed in conversation – including students who looked familiar to me, along with older people who were probably their parents – until I spotted my brother with Monica – dressed in a cream-colored crepe de chine dress –, both engaged in conversation with two smiling ladies.
Davian had wanted to talk to Tony, which was why he had left early. But he wasn't with them.
I looked around searchingly, but my gaze lingered on the stairs, where men wearing even finer clothes than the rest of the guests had gathered.
I was sure I recognized one of these gentlemen from the newspaper. A lawyer for celebrities, if I wasn't mistaken, together with his wife and a girl who appeared to be only fourteen, as they greeted Arnold and my father.
Paper Clippings
Paul Leonard-Morgan
My mood plummeted. And yet my eyes were glued to that man, who greeted the guests with a smile and a firm handshake, before another man, unknown to me, patted my father on the shoulder.
At that very moment, our eyes met.
His fading smile should have filled me with triumph. Instead, I stared back like a deer in the headlights, grateful that Arnold seemed too busy engaging in conversation with three gentlemen, a rare smile on his lips.
Lorette and Jessica's mother were gossiping a few feet away from the men about God knows what.
They were probably the source of all the rumors that would be carried out of the hall and spread around the world after tonight, judging by the sly way they looked around and pointed at guests with their viperous glances.
No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to distract myself from my father.
His gaze pierced right through me, tensed, just like the knot in my stomach, and I couldn't help but dig my fingernails into the sides of my thumbs.
Wrecking Ball
Midnite String Quartet
“No matter what ink dress she wears...” A soft, husky voice approached me from behind and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “...my gaze never seems worthy of that woman who must have bathed in ink.”
A warm hand settled on my back and I shuddered, immediately turned my head to the side, where Davian appeared and leaned in next to me, his gaze fixed straight ahead, his warm, rough hand on my lower back... on my bare skin.
“And he doesn't deserve any part of this sight tonight.”
I couldn't help but stare to the side at Davian, overwhelmed by the pleasant intensity of his touch... his words.
He didn't give me time to process them, his hand tracing gentle lines down my back, his chest rising and falling heavier than normal beneath his fine, tailor-made black three-piece suit, before he swallowed and took his hand away from me.
No tears, Quill. No tears.
My hand clawed into the small clutch, where the hard pistol rested inside.
I wanted to bring it up, but I couldn't get my mouth open.
His eyes met mine, and the lump in my throat grew as fast as the regret in his gaze. A regret that cut me as sharply as otherwise only his words could. But there was something else. Longing.
I wanted to tell him that Lara knew something, but how could I put a name on something that he had made clear should not exist? Added to that was the nervousness inside me, unable to assess what would happen if I lost him.
I wasn't ready. Never would be.
“Good thing you found her.”
Old Money
Ahmet Kenan Bilgic, Turgut Mavuk
We both turned to Monica, who beamed at me, blocking the view of my father, and placed both hands on my shoulders.
“Look at you. You and Lara. You both look lovely.”
I smiled, about to thank her, but she leaned toward us.
“And people are already talking about the girl next to Rydell.” She grinned euphorically. “I think it's time we introduced them to the future lawyer, Miss Veritas.”
It was one thing to enter crowded lecture halls filled with men as the only woman there.
But it was something entirely different to be dragged from lawyer to lawyer by Monica – accompanied by Davian, who had countless eyes on him and whom everyone here seemed to know –, and to be introduced to judges and senators, while pretending to be someone I would certainly never be.
Respected people who knew the law of this country, who wore Lady Justice like a badge, looked into the eyes of an outlaw who told them about her future plans in D.C. and smiled confidently when they wished her good luck for the debates.
The worst part? The look on Davian's face, whose thoughts I would have loved to read.
I was a liar. And he knew it.
“Davian”
Fading Hours
Ahmet Kenan Bilgic, Turgut Mavuk
A handsome man his age patted him on the shoulder with a laugh and pulled him into an almost brotherly embrace, and when I glanced questioningly over the man's shoulder at Davian, he looked at me as if he didn't like the situation at all.
“You seem to have learned from Joseph. Now you're mentoring a student of your own.”
The man let go of him, looked at me, sized me up, not even trying to keep his eyes off my body, and I didn't miss the way Davian's jaw clenched.
Eventually, the man held out his hand to me.
“Gideon Clinton.” Wait. The Gideon Clinton? “Your mentor and I were college friends. Later, we were colleagues at the same law firm.”
Davian cleared his throat sharply, but I didn't understand what he was trying to express.
Next to us, Monica seemed to be engrossed in conversation with the two ladies we had been talking to earlier.
Gideon, a top lawyer I had heard about in Arnold's lectures and read about in the bar journal, looked back at Davian with his toothpaste commercial smile.
“Would the lady like a drink?”
No. Definitely not. But I didn't even have time to answer his question before he gave me a wink and stole away.
I looked at Davian for help, who was staring after him with a grim expression. Grimmer than I was used to seeing from him.
“Unscrupulous bastard,” he growled and stepped toward me, not without keeping his watchful eye on Gideon, who ran his fingers through his golden blond hair before flirting with the waitress and taking two glasses from her tray.
“He slept with his clients' daughters.”
Surprised, I looked back at Davian.
“Minors.”
He snorted morosely.
“In law school, he used Anthony and me to stay at the top of his class. If Joseph hadn’t told me to play along because we could benefit from his connections, and if Anthony hadn’t wanted to keep the peace, I would have made sure no law firm in the world had ever hired him.”
“You're passive, Davian. And we both know you couldn't have stopped that sleazy brown-noser. People like that know how to get the necessary connections.”
We both looked at Troy, who had appeared next to Davian, Lucas in tow.
Just then, Gideon returned and handed me the champagne glass.
“The lady.”
Overwhelmed, I took the glass and earned a sullen snort from Troy and a hostile stare from Lucas.
Gideon looked at Davian, who had already stiffened up again.