Lexa’s eyes were wide with terror, as if she expected Kaitlynn to burst through the door at any moment and try to take her life all over again.
“You and I are the only ones who know what happened that night,” Ariana said, looking Lexa directly in the eye. “As long as we keep the secret between us, we’ll be fine. You’ll remain president of Stone and Grave, your dad will keep his job, and we’ll both graduate and go on to wonderful things. But if we tell . . .”
She let the implication hang in the air. Lexa looked across the room at the photograph of her and her parents posing with the president, everyone wearing huge smiles. Ariana could practically see the gears working in her friend’s mind as she realized anew what could happen. Her life, her father’s political career, her future—all of it could be taken from her.
“You’re right,” Lexa said finally, sniffling as she looked down at her lap. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Ariana wrapped her arm around Lexa. “It’s okay. So . . . no police?”
“No police,” Lexa said.
“And no more freak-outs?” Ariana asked, holding her breath.
“No more freak-outs,” Lexa promised. Then she turned and hugged Ariana with both arms. “Thank you so much, Ana. For saving my life.”
“Of course,” Ariana replied, closing her eyes as she hugged Lexa back. She had cleared this hurdle. Now all she could do was hope that Lexa kept her promises. “I would do it again in a heartbeat, Lexa,” she added. “You’re my best friend.”
When Ariana walked into the sunlit conference room at Jessup, Martin, and Falk, Leon Jessup was kicked back in one of the leather chairs around the glass-topped conference table, reading the local paper. He was a large man, broad and tall, his shoulders spilling over the sides of the wide chairback. In his mouth was a breath mint, which he rolled around on his tongue and occasionally bit down on. Behind him was a wall of rounded windows overlooking the Smithsonian Institution Building, where yellow school buses were lined up like limousines waiting outside the Academy Awards. The attorney didn’t notice Ariana until she cleared her throat.
“Miss Covington!” he announced in a congenial tone. He folded the paper and tucked it into the side compartment on his leather briefcase before standing and offering his hand. “I apologize. It’s so rare that I get a moment to relax and read the paper; I believe I was quite in another world.”
“It’s not a problem. I can only imagine how busy you are,” Ariana said with a smile, shaking his hand. Then, suddenly, she remembered why she was here and how Briana Leigh would be expected to act. She rearranged her features into a pensive frown.
“Have a seat,” Jessup said, gesturing at the chair next to his.
The puffed-up leather let out a quiet, comforting sigh as Ariana sat. Several legal documents were laid out across the table, each with bright pink tabs sticking out of their sides with the helpful words SIGN HERE in bold black letters.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Jessup said, sitting next to her and rolling his chair closer to the table. He stopped messing with the mint, as if the occasion was too somber for such behavior.
“Thank you,” Ariana said. Surreptitiously she eyed the paperwork, trying to discern any dollar amounts in all the legal gibberish. “Did you know my grandmother well?”
“Samantha Covington was a great lady. Not to mention one of our most important clients.”
“She must be, if one of the firm’s partners is flying out just to meet me,” Ariana said, lifting one eyebrow.
Jessup cracked a smile. “We have four offices—Houston, St. Louis, Atlanta, and DC. There are about thirty other places I’m supposed to be right now, but I promised your grandmother I’d take care of her estate myself when the time came. I’m honored to be able to fulfill that promise.”
“Thank you,” Ariana said.
“This should be simple,” Jessup said. “All you need to do is sign where indicated, and then I’ll be able to give you all the account numbers and keys.”
He lifted an open box off the chair on his other side and placed it on the table. Inside were several sets of keys, each with a white tag hanging off of it, and a series of worn-looking bankbooks.
“Keys?” she asked.
“To the five safety deposit boxes containing all your mother and grandmother’s jewelry. To the ranch in Texas, the house in Florida, the villa in Italy, the condo in Vail, the pied-à-terre in Paris. Also, the cars,” he said, lifting out one after the other. “You’ve got your Cadillac convertible, your grandmother’s classic Benz, your father’s Porsche, and your mother’s Infiniti. Your grandmother never had the heart to sell those. The keys to the various vehicles at the other homes are all with the caretakers, but I thought I’d bring these with me in case you wanted me to have one of them shipped out.”
Ariana’s tongue was slick with saliva. She was actually about to start drooling. Pied-à-terre in Paris? Villa in Italy? Condo in Vail? Her choice of cars? Suddenly she wished she’d taken Lexa up on her offer and brought her along, just so that she could have her pinch her.
“Miss Covington? Are you all right? Do you need some water?” Mr. Jessup asked.
“Um, no, thank you. I’m fine,” she said. She folded her hands in her lap so he couldn’t see them trembling, although he probably would have thought she was overcome with stress rather than excitement. “Actually, you could have the Porsche shipped out, if you don’t mind taking care of that for me.” She had detested Briana Leigh’s ridiculously ostentatious gold Cadillac. From everything she knew about Mr. Covington, she was sure his car was more classic—more understated.
“Of course not,” Mr. Jessup said, making a quick note. Then he took out a second pen, uncapped it, and handed it to her. “All right, then. If you’ll just show me your ID, we can get started.”
Ariana’s blood froze. “My ID?”
Did he think she wasn’t who she said she was? Did he think she was some kind of fraud? She’d been living as Briana Leigh Covington for the past four months. And he had no idea the torture she’d had to live through before taking the name, just to secure it. How dare he ask for ID? Her fingers clenched the pen so hard the tips began to turn white under her fingernails.
“Yes, it’s just a matter of course,” Mr. Jessup said. “Legalities and all that. You do have it with you?”
Ariana breathed in deeply through her nose, telling herself to be patient. The man was just doing his job. He wasn’t trying to out her. Slowly, concentrating on every move—on making them look casual—Ariana placed the pen down, reached into her bag and extracted her wallet. Her fingers were slick with sweat, so it took several frustrating tries to remove the license from its transparent casing. Mr. Jessup chuckled at her many attempts, which made her skin prickle. Then, finally, it slipped free. She handed it to him, held her breath, and waited.
The man barely glanced at it. “Thank you,” he said, handing it back to her.
Ariana tucked the license away as her skin gradually returned to a normal temperature. It was fine. Everything was fine.
“Sign here,” Jessup said, turning the first page toward her.
At first, Ariana’s fingers were trembling so badly, she could hardly write Briana Leigh’s name. But with each successive signature, her writing became more clear, more sure. She was worth millions. She had properties all over the world at her disposal. And within days, she’d have a car on campus. This was the single best day of her life.
“And here . . . ,” Jessup said, putting the last piece of paper in front of her.
Ariana signed quickly, then clasped the pen in both hands over her heart, biting down on her lip in excitement. Slowly, Mr. Jessup slid the box toward her.
“All of your parents’ accounts are electronic, so I’ve brought you the passwords and account numbers. But your grandmother was old school. She liked to write everything down herself,” Mr. Jessup said fondly. “I thought you might want to have her records.”
“Thank you
,” Ariana said, reaching for the first account book.
She tried not to be too quick about it, lest she appear greedy and not properly mournful, but she did have to look. She simply had to. She opened the account to its last entry and stared at the balance. It read $756,905.32.
“That’s just her checkbook,” Mr. Jessup said, almost apologetically. “The savings accounts, of course, are far more substantial.”
Ariana felt suddenly faint. Her mouth went dry, and she shakily placed the book down on the table. She was rich. Filthy, stinking, disgustingly rich. She could take this checkbook right now, walk out of here, and buy herself ten cars if she wanted to. Or a few boats. Or a freaking town house on Capitol Hill.
“I think I’ll take that water now, please,” she said.
“Of course.”
Mr. Jessup leaned forward and hit a button on a keypad at the center of the table. It let out a buzz. “Yes, Mr. Jessup?” a voice chirped.
“Miss Covington is in need of some water, please, Cheryl,” he said.
“Right away, sir.”
Ariana cleared her throat, gripping the arms on her chair. She had to calm down. She had to stop freaking out and think clearly. What would Briana Leigh do right now? Her grandmother had just died. What would she say?
“What about a funeral?” Ariana blurted suddenly.
“Oh, there will be no funeral,” Mr. Jessup said. “Your grandmother wanted everything to be very low-key. She’s being cremated this morning, and her ashes will be scattered at the ranch. Of course, you’re more than welcome to come home and do that yourself if—”
“No,” Ariana said, as cool, comforting relief coursed through her veins and filled her lungs. “That’s okay. I . . . I don’t think I could handle that.”
Mr. Jessup smiled sympathetically. “I understand.”
The assistant walked in and placed a clear glass of water in front of Ariana. She grabbed it and took a ladylike sip. Then another. Then another. The whole while, she stared at the other three account books in the box, barely able to stop herself from tearing into them.
“Well, I suppose our business is done here,” Mr. Jessup said. He stood up and slipped a business card out of the inner pocket on his suit jacket and handed it to her. “Please feel free to call me if you have any questions.”
“Of course,” Ariana said, standing as well.
She barely looked at the card as she tucked it into her purse. Her mind was already rushing ahead to the insane shopping spree she was about to treat herself to. If only she were in New York instead of DC. But she could go there whenever she wanted to. Now she could even go to Paris to shop. She had a place to stay, all her own. Suddenly Ariana wondered what the apartment looked like. Maybe she’d spend the summer in Paris and have it redecorated. She could hire the finest designers in Europe and have furniture flown in from Italy and Spain and—
“It was very nice meeting you. I only wish it could have been under other circumstances,” Mr. Jessup said, offering his hand again as he slipped his briefcase off the table.
“Nice to meet you, t—”
Ariana’s voice died in her throat. Her eyes had just fallen on the top half of the folded newspaper sticking out of Mr. Jessup’s bag. Instantly, her vision clouded over and her head went light. She grabbed the back of her chair to keep from going down. She’d lived through these episodes before, but never had one come on so fast. Never so unexpectedly. Alarmed, Ariana clung to the chair for dear life and gasped, feeling as if she was about to drown.
It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be.
“Miss Covington?” Mr. Jessup’s hand was on her arm. “Miss Covington, are you all right?”
Breathe, Ariana. Just breathe.
In, one . . . two . . . three . . .
Out, one . . . two . . . three . . .
In, one . . . two . . . three . . .
Out, one . . . two . . . three . . .
In, one . . . two . . . three . . .
Out, one . . . two . . . three . . .
“Here. Have some more water,” Mr. Jessup was saying.
Ariana sat down hard in her chair and closed her eyes. Mr. Jessup pressed the water glass into her hand, but she couldn’t find the power to move it to her mouth. She rocked back and forward, back and forward, trying to wipe the image from her mind.
“Miss Covington? Please, drink.” He sounded panicked, and somehow that brought Ariana back to herself. Just slightly.
She lifted the water to her lips and gulped it this time. She felt the cold liquid sluice down her throat, coating her stomach and cooling her insides, and concentrated on those sensations. When the glass was empty, she closed her eyes and drew in one, large breath.
“Are you okay?” Mr. Jessup asked again. “Should I call the paramedics?”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry. I think I just . . .” She pressed her eyes closed tightly, trying to keep herself from looking at the paper again. Trying to come up with a reasonable excuse for her odd behavior. “I just realized the reality of it all,” she rambled. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”
And then she could no longer stop herself. She opened her eyes and looked right at the folded newspaper. Right at the brightly colored photo.
It was. It was. It was her. “Can I see that?” she blurted. “The newspaper?”
Mr. Jessup’s brow knit deeply, clearly baffled.
“Sometimes it helps if I focus on something else for a minute,” Ariana explained impatiently. Her fingers itched to snatch the page, so she lifted her butt from the chair and sat down on her hands.
“Of course.” Mr. Jessup placed the paper on the table in front of her. Ariana released her hands and spread it out flat on the glass. Splashed across the sports page was a huge, full-color photo of a girl, chasing a soccer ball across a bright green field in a gray and blue Georgetown jersey. Ariana gritted her teeth as she read the caption.
Georgetown freshman phenom Reed Brennan takes the ball upfield in the Hoyas’ routing of William and Mary yesterday at North Kehoe Field.
Ariana clenched her teeth. And clenched. And clenched. It was all she could do to keep from screaming and tearing her hair out.
Reed Brennan in the flesh. Reed Brennan happy and healthy and sane. Reed Brennan, a freshman in college, while Ariana was two years behind, stuck pretending to be a high school junior. While Ariana should have been two years ahead.
“Miss Covington?” Mr. Jessup said tentatively.
Ariana blinked. The image of Reed had disappeared inside her fist. She had crumpled the entire front page in her fingers without even realizing it.
Taking a deep breath, Ariana told herself to stop. Stop, stop, stop. Everything was on the line right here, right now. And she was not going to let Reed Brennan screw up her life. Not again. She slowly released the page. Her palm was red with perspiration and black with newsprint. Reed Brennan’s pretty little face was now a smudge.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jessup,” Ariana said, standing again. “I was just thinking about my grandmother and . . . I’m sorry about your paper.”
“It’s quite all right, Miss Covington,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. He glanced forlornly at the crumbled page. “I was finished with that section anyway.”
Ariana forced a smile.
“Good luck with everything, my dear,” he said with a sympathetic smile. Then he gave her shoulder one last squeeze and walked out.
Ariana turned slowly toward the table. She smoothed out the page with both hands, folded it, and tucked it into her purse. Then she dumped the keys and bankbooks into her tote bag, and closed that as well, dropping the empty box onto the table. As she turned to walk out of the conference room, she felt a black slick of anger slip down her spine.
Five minutes ago she’d been happier than she’d ever been. Five minutes ago she’d been dreaming about her apartment in Paris, her shopping spree, her new car. But now all she could think about was Reed Brennan. Reed Brennan, who was enrolled at one of th
e best colleges in the country. A university that just happened to be ten miles from where Ariana was living.
This could not be happening. This simply could not be happening.
There were twenty-four texts and voice mails on Ariana’s cell phone as she stepped off the bus just outside the sprawling Georgetown campus. Texts from her friends, asking if she was okay, whether she was coming back for afternoon classes. A voice mail from Palmer suggesting they hang out tonight and lay low, telling her he’d fly back to Texas with her if she needed him to. Another from Jasper, just checking in. She listened to them without really hearing them, then turned her phone off as she stepped through the elaborate iron gates between the two brick gatehouses leading to the oldest part of campus.
Reed Brennan was here somewhere. Ariana could feel her.
She tucked her phone away and strode toward the circle at the center of the great lawn. All around her the stately gray buildings loomed, hidden eyes looking out at her, people watching from every angle. Was Reed one of them? Did she know Ariana was coming for her? Could she feel Ariana’s presence, too?
A bicycler zipped by, chatting on his Bluetooth. A group of girls in T-shirts displaying sorority letters sipped coffees and gossiped on a nearby bench. Students hurried across the sunlit paths, huddled into their winter jackets, rushing off to their next class or to meet their professors or have lunch with friends.
And Reed Brennan was among them, somewhere.
Ariana’s fingertips tingled as she straightened out her hands, then curled them into fists. She paused at the corner of two walkways and scanned the faces around her.
Reed Brennan did not deserve to be here. Did not deserve to be alive. After all the pain and misery and loss she’d caused. After all the awful things Ariana had been forced to do thanks to her. She did not deserve to exist.
What she did deserve was to feel pain. Excruciating, unbearable, merciless pain.