Picking up the fork she sets down, I didn’t realize I was hungry until the smell of breakfast hit my stomach. I dig in, but stop with a mouthful of eggs and look up. Neely is still standing there as if waiting for something, so I swallow, and ask, “Yeah?”
“May I ask you a personal question?”
“You’ve known me for years, so we’re beyond formality here.”
She sits in the deep red leather chair in front of me and leans forward. In a lowered voice, she asks, “I wasn’t sure if I’m supposed to make long-term arrangements for Ms. Dorset. I didn’t want to upset her and ask.”
I sit back, steepling my fingers. “What do you think of Ms. Dorset?”
Surprise filters across her face. “Oh, um.”
“The truth. Please.”
“I think she’s an acquired taste.”
“One you haven’t acquired, I take it?”
“No.” Although it doesn’t surprise me to hear this, it bothers me. She quickly adds, “I’m sorry. I’ve been too forward.”
“No, you haven’t. I asked for honesty.” And Neely should feel she can be honest. “She’s had a rough life. She’s not used to trusting people. The drugs made her paranoid. I think it will take her time to adjust to the manor.”
“I’ll try to make the transition smoother.”
She stands, but I ask, “How do you feel about Ms. Gra—Mrs. Kingwood?”
Returning to the seat, she replies with a sincere smile. “Sara Jane is lovely and reminds me so much of your mother, Madeline.”
I hate that she clarifies when she speaks of my mother. I understand why, but it’s still unsettling. I rest my elbows on either side of the plate. “She would have liked her. I know it.”
“She would have adored her.”
“I’m glad she’s back.”
“A love that strong can’t stay away for long.” Standing, she taps the desk. “Eat before it gets cold, and if you need anything let me know.”
“Actually, I could use your help now. Do you know where my father kept my birth certificate?”
“He has a safe under the file bureau behind you. I would check there.”
“Really? I had no idea.” I spy the cut in the wood. Looking back at her, I ask, “You don’t happen to know the combination do you?”
She laughs as she’s walking out. “If only.”
When the door closes, I get down on my hands and knees, something my father would never do if it weren’t of upmost importance. He was hiding whatever’s in there for a reason. Or maybe protecting it is more apropos.
I lift the plank of wood that’s hidden in the shadows of the bureau above and see a safe. A silver keypad is visible, but I have no idea what that passcode is. Sitting back, I look around the room for clues. Kingwood? That seems too long and obvious.
Scanning the room, my eyes land on the silver framed photo of my mother when the light from outside shines on it. Madeline. I duck down again and type in her name, but nothing happens.
Think.
Think.
Think.
Madeline.
Their anniversary.
Nothing.
Damn it.
Then an idea strikes.
Her birthday.
I type in the six digits, the lock releases, and the lid pops up just enough for me to open it, leaving me grinning from ear to ear. Reaching in, I pull out an envelope, revealing stacks of money—ten-thousand-dollar bundles. I count them. There are ten. The money doesn’t interest me. The envelope does. I dump the contents on top of the desk. My mother’s wedding ring bounces across the top. I recognize it instantly. She loved that ring. She loved my father, even if he did break her heart. She was too strong to stay with him if she didn’t love him. She wasn’t buried with her ring? Bastard. He took it from her. Fucker.
Holding the ring between my fingers, the diamond catches the light. It’s not a huge diamond considering what they could afford even when they got engaged. Both came from old money. Madeline never needed all the attention she got. She would have been content being less pretty, less refined, less of everything as long as she was happy.
I made her happy, and she made me happy. I was a teenage fuck-up who lived life to the fullest. I didn’t have worries because my mother was present enough for both my parents. Sadness creeps into my chest. I took her for granted, foolish enough to think she’d be around forever.
They say the good die young. She proved them right.
As for Sara Jane, I’ll do everything in my power to prove them wrong.
I set the ring aside and pull the papers from the envelope. My father’s passport. My mother’s. Two bonds and—Bingo. My birth certificate. After what Chad had found, it’s been bugging me. I wanted to see the proof, and if I can get a mock wedding certificate, I’ve no doubt that anything I find online would be altered if the initial information were correct. God, looking at my mother’s ring, I should be getting something for Sara Jane. Does she hate that I haven’t yet?
I still don’t believe the birth certificate is real until I unfold the aged paper and see it with my own eyes.
Mother: April Louise Dorset
Father: Alexander Kingwood II
The paper floats down to the floor as I sit stunned to the spot.
Alexander Kingwood II.
Not Alexander Kingwood III.
Holy shit. Chad was right. It wasn’t a mistake. My grandfather is my real father. April and my grandfather are my parents.
Why was I raised by my fath—Alexander Kingwood III? When I thought my family couldn’t be more fucked up they go and prove me wrong.
My father was really my brother.
Half.
Why would he ever agree to raise his brother as his son? Fuck, and now a whole new mystery presents itself. The only problem is both my predecessors are dead, so I can’t ask them.
There is one person I can ask, and I intend to today.
I shove the stuff back in the envelope and stuff it back in the safe. With my foot, I push the wood over it and wrap up the emails and work I have left to do. The questions I have float through my head, and I find myself checking the time every few minutes. I don’t last an hour before I push off the chair in my quest for answers and head to the living room. I stop as soon as I round the corner.
A man dressed in khaki pants, a blue and white striped shirt, and bright pink tie is touching an antique clock on the mantle. What the hell? “Who are you?”
The guy—late twenties at best, cheap shoes, wavy brown hair that looks in need of a trim—laughs. “Kingwood?”
“Why are you in my house?”
April comes from the kitchen with two glasses of champagne with what looks like a drop of orange juice Not so sure she should be drinking that, especially before nine in the morning, but I’m more concerned with who the fuck this clown is. She says, “This is my nephew.”
With a smile, he walks toward me with his hand out. “Garvey Penner. It’s nice to meet you, cuz. I always admired your dad. He was a true titan of industry. Sorry for your loss.”
Cousin? What the—? “I’m not.”
He laughs. I don’t. But carrying on like we’re buddies, he says, “I bet not since you got quite the inheritance out of the deal.”
“How are we cousins?”
April hands him a glass, and says, “As I said, he’s my nephew. My sister’s son.”
“So you’re visiting?”
He adjusts his belt and sips the champagne. “Just visiting my aunt and wanted to the meet the family since we are now.”