To my daughter Skye Hawthorne, I leave my compass, may she always know true north.” The next morning, I paced in front of Max, unable to contain myself. “The part about the compass and true north was in both of Tobias Hawthorne’s wills. The older one was written twenty years ago. The clues in that will couldn’t have been meant for the Hawthorne grandsons— not originally.” If there was a connection between that line in the will and the home I’d inherited in Colorado, that message had been meant explicitly for Skye. “This game was for Tobias Hawthorne’s daughters.”
“Daughters, plural?” Max inquired.
“The old man left Zara a bequest, too.” My mind raced as I tried to recall the exact wording. “To my daughter Zara, I leave my wedding ring, may she love as wholly and steadfastly as I loved her mother.”
What if that was a clue, too?
“One piece of the puzzle is at True North,” I said. “And if there’s another one, it must have something to do with that ring.”
“So,” Max said gamely, “first, we go to Colorado, and then we steal ourselves a ring.”
It was tempting. I wanted to see True North. I wanted to go there. I wanted to experience even a fraction of what that binder told me my new world had to offer. “I can’t,” I said, frustrated. “I can’t go anywhere. I have to stay here for a year to inherit.”
“You go to school,” Max pointed out. “So, obviously, you don’t have to stay holed up at Hawthorne House twenty-four hours a day.” She grinned. “Avery, my billionaire friend, how long do you think it would take us to fly by private jet to Colorado?”
 |
I called Alisa, and she arrived within the hour.
“When the will says that I have to live in Hawthorne House for a year, what does that mean exactly? What constitutes living at Hawthorne House?”
“Why do you ask?” Alisa replied, blinking.
“Max and I were looking at the binder you gave me. At all of those vacations homes.”
“Absolutely not.” Oren spoke from the doorway. “It’s too risky.”
“I agree,” Alisa said firmly. “But since I have a professional obligation to answer your question: The will’s appendix makes it clear that you may spend no more than three nights per month away from Hawthorne House.”
“So we could go to Colorado.” Max was delighted. “Out of the question,” Oren told her.
“Given what’s at stake here, I concur.” Alisa gave me the Alisa Look to end all Alisa Looks. “What if circumstances prevented you from returning on time?”
“I have school on Monday,” I argued. “Today’s Saturday. I’d only be gone for one night. That gives us plenty of leeway.”
“What if there’s a storm?” Alisa countered. “What if you’re injured?
One thing goes wrong, and you lose everything.” “So do you.”
I looked back to the doorway and saw a stranger standing there. A brown-haired woman wearing khaki slacks and a simple white blouse. Belatedly, I recognized her face. “Libby?” My sister had dyed her hair a sedate medium brown. I hadn’t seen her with a natural human hair color since… ever. “Is that a French braid?” I asked, horrified. “What happened?”
Libby rolled her eyes. “You make it sound like I was kidnapped and forcibly braided.”
“Were you?” I asked, only half joking.
Libby turned back to Alisa. “You were just telling my sister that you can’t allow her to do something?”
“Go to Colorado,” Max clarified. “Avery owns a house there, but her keepers here think traveling is too big a risk.”
“It’s not really their decision, is it?” Libby looked down at the ground, but her voice was steady. “Until Avery’s emancipated, I am her guardian.”
“And I control her assets,” Alisa replied. “Including the planes.” I cut a glance at Max. “I guess we could fly commercial.”
“No,” Alisa and Oren responded in unison.
“Did it ever occur to you that Avery needs a break?” Libby stuck out her chin. “From…” Her voice caught in her throat. “All of this?”
I felt a stab of guilt, because I wasn’t overwhelmed by all of this. I was doing fine here. But Libby isn’t. I could hear it in her tone. When I’d inherited, she lost everything. Her job. Her friends. Her freedom to walk outside without a bodyguard. “Libby—”
She didn’t let me get more than her name out of my mouth. “You were right about Ricky, Ave.” She shook her head. “And Skye. You were right, and I was just too stupid to see it.”
“You aren’t stupid,” I said fiercely.
Libby fingered the end of her French braid. “Skye Hawthorne asked me who I thought a judge would think is more respectable: the new and improved Ricky or me.”
That was why she’d dyed her hair. That was why she was dressed the way she was. “You didn’t have to do this,” I said. “You don’t—”
“Yes,” Libby cut in softly. “I do. You’re my sister. Taking care of you is my job.” Libby turned back to Alisa, her eyes blazing. “And if my sister needs a break, you and that billion-dollar law firm can damn well find a way to give her one.”
