“Screw you.”
“Yes, you as well, my sister.” I hear the flick of a flame and I picture her taking a long drag of a cigarette. Time has passed, but nothing’s changed. “Why did you call, if not to chastise me?”
“I wanted to see how you were doing. And to see if Peter was okay.”
“We’re fine. Short on funds. Scrambling around. But okay. Anything else?”
“I guess not.”
“Bon. Tres bien. Don’t call again.”
“Wait.” I take a deep breath and let it out. “Peter.”
“He’s okay,” she says, her voice softening a touch. “If you want to help, stay where you are, and don’t contact him. I think you will send him into a spiral, yes? He was not well after you left. He is still not well, but better.”
I know it’s wrong but a strange thrill runs through me, knowing my leaving hurt him as much as it hurt me.
“When can I come back?”
“If you have to ask, the answer is never. Goodbye, Adrienne, my sister. Good luck with—well, with whatever.”
The phone clicks and the line goes dead.
I stare at my hands, at the ground, then up at the sky. It’s like I’m spiraling, lower and lower, a plane coming in for a landing, losing altitude, crashing. I want to scream, throw up, curl into a ball and cry. I hate LA and all the people in it, myself most of all.
Except there’s one thing.
One thing she hasn’t considered up until this point.
It’s what Reina said.Short on funds.
They need money for something, and I have money.
I havea lotof money.
For so long I’ve been afraid of my inheritance. I’ve been terrified that the cash is drenched in blood, that it’ll turn me soft, that it’ll ruin me. I didn’t want it, not a single cent, until right now.
Because suddenly, I have a use for it.
My family’s old lawyer’s number is buried in my phonebook. His secretary answers, puts me on hold, and he picks up a minute later. “Adrienne Holloway, how are you?”
“I’m doing well, Mr. Brodsky. I wanted to ask you about the accounts.”
“The accounts. Well, the last time we spoke, you told me in no uncertain terms that you weren’t interested in those.”
“Are they still mine? I mean, nothing’s changed?”
“It’s all there, every penny plus interest.”
“Good. I want access. Send me over all the information as soon as you can.”
He clears his throat. “Yes, of course, I’ll bill you my normal rate and—”
“Thank you. Send it immediately.”
I hang up on him, already beginning to buzz with the seed of a plan.
I have money. I have motive. And I’m stronger than I was before.