Eleanor’s office.
Surprisingly, it’s unlocked and I quietly slip inside, treading across the thick rugs until I’m sitting in her large chair. From here, I feel like I’m at the helm of a ship, and I open the drawer next to my left leg. File folders line up, waiting for me to explore them, and I run my hands along their tops, hunting.
My fingers pause on D.
Dare DuBray.
I almost hesitate as I pull it out and open it, but then I feel no remorse. He knows everything about me. I might as well know something about him.
Adair Phillip DuBray.
6’2. Brown hair, brown eyes.
Mother, Olivia, deceased.
Father, Phillip, deceased.
Step-father, Richard II, deceased.
He’s all alone. It hits me hard, because I know how that feels. His file is fairly short, and a few paragraphs have been redacted, two thick paragraphs with fat black lines drawn through them, preventing me from reading the words.
What is so bad that it can’t be exposed in his file?
I’m confused and agitated, but then my eyes narrow as I come to the part that discusses his part of the Savage estate.
When Richard I died, he’d left the bulk of the estate to Calla Price (me!) and Finn Price, but there is a small trust to take care of Dare for the rest of his life. He would inherit more only if Finn or I are deemed incompetent, or die.
Apparently, Eleanor didn’t inherit.
This shocks me to my core as I sit in her seat and imagine the way she looks so militant and in charge. She got nothing?
But I got… everything. Me and Finn.
Upon Finn’s death, his share went to me, not to Dare.
Why?
I don’t know how much it is worth, but judging by Whitley and the limousine, and the family business, Savage Inc, I know it must be worth a large fortune.
I’m worth a large fortune.
But only if I’m of sound mind.
Astounded, I slip the file back in, and I think I’m going to get up and leave when I see my name.
I yank the file out, wasting no time in examining it.
Calla Elizabeth Price.
Female twin to Finn. Red hair, blue eyes, 5’7”. Dress size, six. Shoe size, eight. Attended public high school at Astoria High. Grade point average, 3.9. Allergies, nuts.
My eyes continue to skim over my own statistics, down to the more nitty-gritty. Mental health.
Her brother Finn was found to be schizoaffective when they were five, diagnosed by American doctors and treated with Lithium and Haldol, with the occasional Xanax for panic attacks. Symptoms of his disease are hallucinations, delusions, mood swings, mania/depressions.
Calla on the other hand…
“What are you doing in here?”
I recognize Sabine’s voice immediately from her stance in the doorway, and I fluidly close the file and slide it back in the drawer in one motion.
“Uh…” my heart pounds. “I’m hunting for something.”
Sabine doesn’t move, but her dark eyes gleam in the night.
“What are you searching for, child?”
I watch her face, waiting for her to flip on the light, for her to pick up her phone and call Eleanor, waiting for her to do something. But she doesn’t. She lingers in the doorway, waiting for me to answer.
“Explanations,” I offer unapologetically, not moving from where I stand.
Sabine enters the room soundlessly, her tiny body moving across the room.
“Answers that are not freely given aren’t really answers at all,” she tells me, each word a mystery.
I take a step, then another, then pause.
“Do you know the answers, Sabine?”
Sabine cocks her head, her white hair glowing in the night. “I know more than many, but my answers aren’t ones you would like,” she finally says.
“I was afraid of that,” I sigh. “Do you know what time Dare got home tonight?”
Sabine looks at me curiously. “I wasn’t paying close attention. He went into town to buy flowers for his mother. I’m sure he spent time in the crypts tonight. He usually does, child. You aren’t the only one who suffered a loss, you know.”