And then I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out the flash drive with the information Alex had retrieved. The proof I said I would get in exchange for the information on Winter’s father Rika got for me.
She looked at me, realization crossing her eyes and all the anger leaving her face as she took it from my hand.
Getting off her, I sat down next to her. “There’s more coming. Gimme a few days.”
“It’s bad?” she asked, turning her head to look at me.
“It’s exactly what I told you last year,” I said. “I told you I don’t lie. Evans Crist—and my father—had yours killed.”
It was something I’d picked up over years of accidently overhearing conversations in my house, and I’d had Alex working Evans Crist—Michael’s father—and gathering security cam footage and bank statements that I knew he kept just in case, so he could hold it over my father if he ever needed to.
“Your father was involved?” Rika asked. “Why yours?”
It was a good question, and one I wasn’t sure how to answer yet. It was obvious why Evans wanted to get rid of Schraeder Fane. They were friends, and Evans had power of attorney over his friend’s estate in case anything happened. And Evans saw his chance. He wanted to marry Rika off to his son Trevor when she grew up, so the Fane fortune would be theirs. He knew Schraeder had no plans to allow his daughter to marry too young, though, and he knew Rika’s mother was much more pliable.
As for my father helping, I had no idea why. He wasn’t getting anything out of it. Maybe just a favor?
“I don’t know that yet,” I told her.
She sat up, and I watched her stare at the drive as she fingered the scar on her neck. The one she got when she was thirteen in the car accident that killed her father because his brakes had been cut. Gabriel and Evans didn’t expect her to be in the car that day, but thank goodness she lived.
Because I needed her and we had shit to do.
Winter
Five Years Ago
“All set?” Sara Dahlberg asked as she walked into the ticket booth.
I pooled all the nickels into my hand, dumped them back into the tray, and recorded the sum on a notepad, fingering the indentations of my pen marks to find where I needed to write the total. “Yep.”
“I’ll count your bills.” She pulled the tray over to her side, and I heard the shuffle of money as she counted the rest of my bank.
“Thanks.”
I shut down my computer and switched off the marquee outside, the constant buzz of the lighting above finally dying. I’d only been working here about eight weeks, but already that sound was killing me. I would’ve rather worked concessions inside, but the theater manager was concerned about how I would manage behind the counter with the chaos of other employees moving about. I had ideas, but she had a system that worked, so…
I didn’t really expect much more from her, though. She didn’t think I should do a lot of things. She only gave me this job right before my junior year started several weeks ago to shut me up about dancing with the company, since the theater not only showed movies but held plays, symphonies, and ballets.
I’d started looking for a job when the last school year ended to stay busy and enjoy some independence, but I’d had rotten luck, so it was either this or stay home to revel in Arion’s constant self-importance and listen to my parents fight.
“’Okay,” Sara said. “Here you go.”
I held out my arms, and she placed the tray with the count on a piece of paper in my hold, and held the door open for me as I left the little room. I tucked the tray under my arm, propped up on my hip, and held out my free hand to walk the path to the manager’s office. I’d gotten used to navigating it over the past two months, counting my steps and feeling my way.
Two months.
Two months since I’d started working an actual job.
Two months until Christmas and the only time Arion and I got along.
Two months plus one until I was seventeen.
And less than two years until I graduated, and two years since I’d spoken to him.
Two whole years.
The night of the car ride and motorcycle ride was the last time he paid me a visit. Why hadn’t he come back?