Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“I’m glad he’s gone.” I look up at him. “Was Camilla in love with you or something?”
He looks down at me, one dark eyebrow raised. “You give her too much credit. A snake cannot feel emotion. It only wants to sink its venomous fangs into its prey. What else did she say?”
“Doesn’t matter. Nothing important. Are you going to tell me where you were?”
“Madelena—”
“We’re learning to trust each other, right? Tell me.”
He hesitates but then nods. “The message I’d sent to Thiago the night you told me he went over the catwalk finally delivered. And I got a reply.”
“What?” I sit up so fast water splashes out of the tub. “He’s alive? Thank God!”
“No, sweetheart. At least, I don’t know. It’s unlikely. I think someone is playing a game with us. And I don’t like it.”
16
SANTOS
At lunchtime the following day, my phone rings. I see Odin’s name on the display and answer.
“Rick figured out what that report is,” he says without greeting. He sounds off.
“Well, what is it?” I ask after a long pause on his end.
“I think you should meet us.”
“Why?”
“Just…”
“Fine. Where are you?” I ask, dread settling in my gut.
“At a bar called Brady’s outside of town. It’s off exit fourteen on highway 85.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
I disconnect the call, grab my coat, and head out of the house. I know the bar from passing it but have never been inside, and I’m concerned why they chose that location to meet. Clearly, whatever Rick found is delicate.
I get to the bar, park and enter. Inside, the place is dimly lit, the windows tinted dark. It smells of stale beer and cigarettes smoked a decade ago. Country music is playing, and disco lights turn the empty dance floor various shades of red. Rick and Odin are sitting at a table at the far end of the bar, and I walk over, looking at each of the few patrons and recognizing no one. But Avarice’s upper class wouldn’t frequent this place. Hell, they wouldn’t be caught dead here.
I pull out the only empty chair at the table, take off my coat, drape it over the back and take a seat.
“Can I get you something?” a waitress asks.
“Club soda,” I say, raising my eyebrows at the two of them.
They each have a nearly empty beer in front of them and they order another round. Rick looks nervous, and Odin swallows what’s left in his glass.
“What did you find?” I ask when she’s gone.
Rick opens his backpack which is on the floor next to him and hands me the envelope that contains the burnt sheet of paper. Along with it, he holds out another one, this one thicker.
“What is this?” I ask, not wanting to take it.
“The report. The full report.”
That feeling of dread I’d felt since Odin called worsens. It’s the way they’re looking at me. I take the envelop but don’t take whatever is inside it out.
“I told you what Illuminate does as far as the public is concerned. But they also provide discreet DNA testing,” Rick says.
The waitress brings our drinks. Rick stops talking, and I don’t miss how Odin is watching me.
“Spill it, Rick,” I say once the woman is gone.
Odin continues when Rick doesn’t. “That is a copy of the report that was burnt,” Odin says. “Rick was able to access the file.”
“What’s on it?”
“It’s Caius.”
“Caius?” I ask, confused.
“Open it.” Odin gestures to the envelope while Rick picks up his glass with sweaty palms and loudly drains the contents.
I take the papers out, unfolding them. I recognize the watermark that repeats throughout. I can see a similar table to the charred one, though this sheet is pristine white, the edges not having been turned to ash, the paper not yellowed with age.
I read my mother’s full name on it. Evelyn Thomas. She’s in the column labeled Mother. Under the column labeled Child is Caius’s name.
A cold sweat breaks out over my forehead, under my arms. I drag my gaze to the column labeled Alleged Father and my world goes sideways.
I’ve never known who Caius’s father was. Mom never talked about him. Dad never did. I was never sure he even knew.
“This can’t be right,” I tell Rick, turning the paper over, turning it back to see the date of the report. It’s eleven years old. Caius would have been almost twenty-one then.
“It’s right, man,” Rick says. “These things are like 99.999999% right.”
My hand turns into a fist. I’m crushing the report in my palm. “Can’t be.” I push my chair back noisily and stand, then need to grip the edge of the table because it’s like I stood up too fast.
“Are you going to be okay?” Odin asks, getting to his feet.
I look at him, then at Rick. I lean toward him, take him by the collar. “If you’re fucking wrong—”