VI
Tori
S ince the day my brother was arrested, I’ve always felt something was wrong. From his confession to his lack of motive, and the fact I could never find any real evidence. The more I started to dig, the more I’ve become convinced there was so much more to this murder.
I came to James Keyingham University to find answers, but only found more questions. The lack of evidence has been further proof that something’s not right, but the longer this has gone on, the more I’ve had this lingering bad feeling that the only way things could be how they are is if someone is manipulating the situation.
At first, that seemed crazy. Because JP might have been a future president, but he wasn’t really anyone that important.
So who would go to that much trouble?
Worse is the idea that there is someone out there with the ability to do all this.
And then, one night, Syn told me that if he had to kill me, not only would he, but he’d do it without anyone knowing it was him.
Which also seems just as insane because Syn is nothing more than an obscenely rich college senior.
Even when Declan nearly succeeded in killing me—and he died believing he had—the idea that there is still more to all of this seems impossible. I’ve upset people being here, but I have no proof of anything, so why does anyone need to go to the trouble of killing me?
But, if I’m understanding what Syn is telling me, wanting me dead doesn’t stop at Declan, or even Syn.
More importantly, now Syn really doesn’t think my brother killed JP?
While I don’t feel like I’m going to pass out, all the anger that has been fueling me has evaporated from my body, and Syn’s suggestion to sit seems like a good one. So I move over to the armchair that Syn pointed to and sit down, clutching tightly to the mug in my hands.
“It also puts a target on our backs,” Gemini says with nonchalance as he indicates between himself and Royal. “You’ve got a future presidency protecting you.” He shrugs. “But the threat of imminent death is making me strangely horny. Look.”
As Gemini points at the bulge at his crotch, Syn just shakes his head.
“Who wants me dead? Beside you?” I ask Syn.
Syn fixes me a look of irritation before he moves to the armchair mirroring mine on the opposite side of the fireplace. Instead of sitting in it, he moves behind it and lightly grips the back. “That’s a question with a multi-layered answer, and the further up the levels we go, the less I can say.”
Leaning back in the chair, I cross my legs. “For someone who likes the sound of his own voice, you’re very good at not saying anything. Maybe you are suited for politics.”
“My intention might have been to make your life miserable, but if you were to die, it would be by your own hand. Declan Salaway was an idiot. The chances of him actually orchestrating this are not impossible, but it’s more likely that he was carrying out specific instructions. My guess is he was being blackmailed.”
My instinct is to react to the first part of what he just admitted, but I force myself to focus on the second part, and the flutter of conversation that suddenly returns to my mind. “When Declan was trying to kill me, and I asked him why, he said it was my life or theirs. Did you arrange for someone to hurt his family?”
Syn releases an irritated sigh. “Victoria, for the last time, I was not behind Salaway’s order to murder you.”
“Then who was?”
Briefly, Syn glances at Royal and then Gemini before he returns his attention to me. “Preston du Pont.”
“Preston du Pont?” I wrinkle my nose as I try to remember where I’ve heard that name before. “Wait. You mean the former Elite President? The guy at your birthday party?”
Syn nods.
Preston’s portrait hangs on the wall in the hallway of Denali House, along with portraits of all the former Elite presidents. My last interaction with him was at Syn’s birthday party, where I’m almost certain he thought I was the help, because he sent me to get him a drink.
“Why would he want me dead?”
“What would you do if someone killed your best friend?”
Penny’s face flashes into my mind. “Don’t—”
“Relax.” Syn waves his hand dismissively. “I wasn’t threatening Bergmann. But your reaction speaks volumes. I was with du Pont when I was given instructions to make sure you left James Keyingham University. He used my birthday party as an excuse to ensure I had followed orders, and when he saw you were still here, he took matters into his own hands.”
At this point, that doesn’t seem the craziest of motives. “The problem is he didn’t take matters into his own hands. He used Declan’s. Do you think Preston has—”
“Yes,” Syn says, simply. “I don’t think you realize how much you can do when you have as much money and reach as someone like us.”
“I am fully aware of the fact that even when my family had money, we barely scraped what your family is worth. You don’t need to keep telling me that,” I say, dryly. “But what you’re suggesting is that somehow, Preston was able to get Declan desperate enough to try to kill me. Not just threaten his family, but somehow, make him believe that something horrible would happen to them if he didn’t. You keep pointing out wealth and standing, but how is someone like Preston du Pont going to know someone dangerous enough to help him? Because there’s no way he’d be able to pull that off by himself.”
“One thousand percent accurate,” Gemini tells me, a little too gleefully. “But you need to switch out whatever gangs and lowlifes you’re thinking of, and replace them with mercenaries.”
I didn’t know Preston, but this was like asking me to imagine any of these three guys associating with mercenaries. Unless… “You mean the XXXI.” I lean forward, clutching the mug of now cold water with both hands. “The secret society?”
Syn’s eyebrows dart upwards, then draw in as he turns to look at Gemini. “You told her?”
Gemini shrugs. “Chill. She saw the tattoo and asked about it.”
“Seriously?” Syn asks, as though he’s surprised at something Gemini has done.
“I know, right?” Gemini asks, with more outrage than is necessary. “It’s completely unbelievable that anyone’s attention can be on some small tattoo and not the magnificence of my manhood. I mean, look at it.” He reaches down and starts to unfasten his pants.
“Gemini, there’s not a single person in this room who wants to see your dick right now,” Syn snaps, reaching down, and picks the cushion up off the armchair to launch it at Gemini.
“I’d say it’s a fifty-fifty split,” Gemini informs him as he bats the cushion away. When I look at him and shake my head, he pouts. “Your loss.”
“All he told me was that it meant you were part of a society—a secret society,” I tell him before Gemini derails the conversation again, and Syn decides to stop speaking. “Is the XXXI a group of mercenaries? Are you?”
“The XXXI are not mercenaries, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have access to a wide array of resources. Whatever you think you know about power and politics, and who is running this country, forget about it.” Syn moves around to the front of the armchair and sits down.
I shrug. “Despite what you think, I’m not stupid. I know there are corporations and industries essentially bribing politicians and holding the country to ransom. Pharma, oil and the NRA have more power than anyone.”
“If I thought you stupid, it’s no more than the average American. Those industries have the power because they’ve been granted it. They’re a visible face—a thing to blame. A scapegoat. A shield. Every vote, every outcome, every piece of policy passed or overturned has been decided months, if not years, in advance. Not by these industries, or even by the president, but by a small group of people controlling the strings. The XXXI.”
I’m usually down for a good conspiracy theory, but this is insane. Syn’s so serious and so calm, that I honestly think he believes this to be the truth.
“Let’s say I believe you, and that the entire US government is nothing more than a puppet,” I tell him, trying to keep the complete skepticism from my tone. “What the hell did I do? I’m a nobody. I was a nobody before, and then we lost everything, and now, I’m whatever’s less than a nobody. You wanting to kill me makes sense. Someone more important than the president—if that really is a thing—makes none. It’s just a lame ass excuse.”
There’s no movement from Syn, other than his index finger gently tapping the back of the chair, as he watches me. “I never wanted to kill you.”
There’s a small voice in the back of my mind, trying desperately to tell me that, considering everything I’ve learned and heard, provoking Synclair Keyingham is a very stupid thing to do, but whatever patience I’ve had up until now has vanished. “Bullshit. You said you wanted me to kill myself. You said you’d been told by the XXXI to get rid of me. You even told me, in your own bedroom, that you were capable of killing me, and you would.”
“ Could ,” Syn stresses before he wafts his hand dismissively. “You are at this college because I said so. I saw you’d applied, and I made sure that you were successful with your application.” He leans forward slightly, but it’s enough to make his gold eyes flash in the light. “I wanted your brother to get the death penalty for what he did, and when I found out you were coming here, I wanted you to be so miserable that you’d take your own life and make him suffer. Your brother is in prison because he confessed to murdering the most important person in my life, and then you not only turned up here in a place that is part of his legacy, but then you never stopped proclaiming that your brother was innocent. You can judge me all you want for that, but if the roles were reversed, and you had the power, you would do exactly the same.”
I fall silent at that. I’d like to think I was better than Syn, but there had been countless times when I’d thought to myself that I’d want to make him hurt if I was in his shoes. Maybe I wouldn’t have done it in the same way, but I’d done a lot more than I thought I was capable of, just in trying to find out the truth to free Cole.
“Then why have Declan try to kill me?” I ask. “That video was released, and I was ready to leave this place.”
“I told you, I didn’t have Salaway try to kill you. My instructions were simply to get you to leave.” Syn’s eyes narrow. “And to be clear, the video was not released under my instruction either, Victoria.”
“It’s true,” Royal said, finally speaking up. “Syn had no idea the video was going to be released—none of us did until we were sent a link. When we did, we immediately tried to find out who was behind it.”
“Is that too-late show of heroism supposed to make me feel better?” I ask him.
A hint of red colors Royal’s cheeks before he shakes his head. “No, but I’m still sorry it happened.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, dryly. “Someone went to great lengths to make sure no one can tell I’m deep throating you.”
He shifts his weight, his face getting redder, but whatever he’s about to say, I’ve got no interest in hearing, so I turn back to Syn.
“Whether you released it or not, that video has racked up thousands of views. I went back to that room to get my things, and then I was leaving this place. I was going to leave this morning, but instead, I’m here. Why won’t you just let me go?”
“Because it’s not safe,” Syn says.
“Neither is being here with you.”
Syn’s index finger starts tapping against his thigh. “You asked me why I was so sure Cole had murdered JP, but when I really started to think about it, I realized that I didn’t have a reason. So I drove upstate to the jail and spoke to him. I think you’re right: I don’t think he killed JP either. Which means either your brother knows who did, or he’s been blackmailed into saying he did.” Syn’s voice is calm and almost conversational, but somehow, it seems to have the power to make my heart feel like it’s about to explode. “You can leave if you want, but out there, you’ve got no one to protect you.”