“I… don’t understand.”
Mr. Mouton sighed again, either in frustration from having to explain the situation to Ophelia for a third time, or because he was starting to believe she didn’t have the wits to grasp what was happening.
He fidgeted with his cravat as he leaned forward to point at the thickly inked words of the documents in front of her with his free hand. “Your mother stopped making payments on the manor earlier this year. She was a large part of our community, and we recognize how much she did for the grieving families of New Orleans. We tried to prolong this unpleasant part for as long as possible, but the bank started the foreclosure process two months ago. Today marks the countdown to the last thirty days until it becomes our property. We need you both to sign this document stating that you have been informed of the situation.”
“But why did she take out a loan in the first place? Grimm Manor has been in our family for generations. My sister and I have lived there our whole lives, and not once have I ever seen a collection letter or—”
He cut her off, double-tapping a line in the document resting on the desk. “It says right here that she took out a cash loan against the manor’s equity for personal use. Nearly thirty-five thousand dollars—with interest. She’s only paid five thousand back. See? These are the carbon copies of the checks.”
Ophelia reached out, almost subconsciously, and tapped her finger once over the line he had just been pointing at before dropping her hands back into her lap as she continued to study the slips of paper between them. He gave her a strange look, but she ignored him as her mind raced to process this new information.
Three of the one-thousand-dollar checks were made out in her mother’s pristine handwriting. The other two, however… Ophelia narrowed her eyes. The slight shakiness of the connecting “S”s on Tessie Grimm’s signature was the only giveaway that someone had forged them. She flicked a glance over at Genevieve, who was being oddly quiet in the face of this news, but her sister wouldn’t look back at her.
“What can we do to stop this?” Ophelia demanded. “If it’s foreclosed on, couldn’t we buy it back from the bank?”
Mr. Mouton pulled out a pocket watch as he answered. “Unless either of you are going to come up with that money in the next month, I don’t think there’s anything you can do. The demolition date has already been set. The city has had its sights set on that land—as well as your neighbors’ land—for some time. They want to install more modern housing, maybe even a hotel or two for tourists. My advice would be to sign over the rights now and give yourself a head start to begin considering other places to live.”
“Well, then we don’t need your advice,” Ophelia told him before standing up and scraping her chair back. He winced at the sound. “We won’t be signing anything. We’re not going to hand over our home to you.”
He shook his head in pity. “The house is getting torn down whether you like it or not, Miss Grimm. Signing the papers is merely a legal formality.”
At that, Ophelia swiped the papers off his desk and stalked out of the building, Genevieve silently following on her heels. Mr. Lafitte, who had been unable to join their meeting due to an irate client demanding his attention, gave them a smug look as they passed his desk. It took everything in Ophelia not to give him a crude gesture. Genevieve, however, didn’t resist.
Ophelia pushed her way outside and rushed down the street, wanting to put as much distance between herself, those men, and the bank as possible.
“Ophie,” Genevieve called after her. “Slow down!”
Ophelia turned into an alley, ducked behind a large stack of wooden crates, and leaned back against the dirty brick wall as she slid to the ground. Touching her forehead to her knees, she focused on steadying her breathing, clutching the crumpled papers for dear life.
You’re failing your family’s legacy already, and you haven’t even begun, the Shadow Voice told her. Knock on the wall three times and everything will be okay.
She obeyed. One, two, three.
“Ophie,” Genevieve said breathlessly as she finally caught up, wrinkling her nose at the grimy alley she now found herself in. “Ophelia, let’s discuss this. We need to be realistic with ourselves about the situation.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.” Ophelia’s tone was drenched with bitterness. “We are not signing over our home to those scam artists. Didn’t you see those checks? The signatures were forged on two of them, so who knows what else they could be lying about. I can’t let this happen.”
Genevieve bit her lip at the mention of the forged checks. “But if we’re in debt… wouldn’t it be better to take their deal and just be rid of it? This could finally be our excuse to leave—to travel! I know you feel like you have to stay here and take care of Grimm Manor forever but… maybe this is a sign.”
Deep down, Ophelia knew that Genevieve was probably right. A normal person would be celebrating Grimm Manor’s demolition. A part of her agreed that maybe this was finally the opportunity to be free. After all, this wasn’t her doing. So, she couldn’t really be blamed for the downfall of their family’s legacy. But another part of her knew that if she didn’t fight to keep it, she was making a clear choice.
Ophelia shook her head and whispered, “I can’t be a failure. I won’t.”
Grimm Manor was their home and, dreams aside, Ophelia couldn’t imagine leaving the place that raised her. The last place that she could feel her mother and her grandmother. The only place that knew her. Body and soul. Skin and bones. The manor’s dust currently clung to the skirts of her dress, its dirt beneath her fingernails, the scent of wild roses woven in her hair. She had spent all twenty-three years of her life running around the creaking floorboards, playing hide-and-seek within its walls, falling asleep in the parlor after stealing sips of absinthe from its cupboards.
“I’m not giving up that easily, Genevieve,” she said, louder now, pushing herself up from the ground.
“Why do you think that would be giving up?” Genevieve demanded. “Why can’t you see that you’re holding yourself back trying to fit into a mold Mother made for you? I know you, Ophie. You want to do bigger things than stay in Grimm Manor for the rest of your—”
“It doesn’t matter what I want.” Ophelia shook her head.
“But Ophie—”
“For fuck’s sake, Genevieve, stop,” Ophelia snapped, surprising even herself at the venom in her tone. Unlike her sister, Ophelia didn’t use expletives very often. But Genevieve’s optimism was wearing on her nerves. “I’m barely keeping it together, and you going on and on with this nonsense about leaving and traveling is not helping. We’re not children anymore—Mother is no longer going to be there to coddle you whenever you make a mistake because you were too impulsive or didn’t think your decisions all the way through. It’s going to be me cleaning up your messes now.”
“I’ve never asked for you to clean up my messes. I can take care of myself. I can help you take care of this, too. Why won’t you just let me help?” Genevieve implored.
“Help how?” Ophelia challenged. “By forging checks?”
Genevieve winced. “I…”
“I knew it. I know Mother’s handwriting better than anyone, Vivi,” Ophelia said. “I’ve been reading her notes and spell books all my life while you’ve been out galivanting with your friends. Did you think I wouldn’t notice such a detail?”
“I did what I thought was right at the time,” Genevieve said, tilting her chin up in defiance.
“Why didn’t you come to me?” Ophelia implored. “Why didn’t you ask for help? And where did you even get the money from to write those checks?”
Genevieve looked away now. “It doesn’t matter where I got the money. All that matters is I took care of things, alright? I bought us the time we needed then, but we have an opportunity to start fresh now. To stop trying to outrun a problem that will always be ten steps ahead of us.”
“Where did you get the money?” Ophelia pressed.
Genevieve’s fists balled at her side. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?”
Ophelia shook her head. “That tells me all I need to know. Which is exactly my point—your good intentions won’t matter if you stumble into a mess way over your head. And then it will be my job to fix it. Just like the mess we’re in right now.”
Genevieve’s face drooped with hurt at Ophelia’s words. In a blink, she spun on her heels and ran out of the alley.
“Hell. Genevieve, wait!” Ophelia called after her.
Genevieve rounded the corner and disappeared. Ophelia picked up her skirts as she chased after her sister, but by the time she made it out of the dank corridor, Genevieve was nowhere in sight.
