Chapter 38

{Hailey’s Pov}

It really was a bowling alley. In my house. There was a bowling alley in my house. As promised, there were “only” four lanes, but otherwise, it had everything you’d expect a bowling alley to have. There was a ball return. Pin-setters on each lane. A touch screen to set up the games, and fifty- five-inch monitors overhead to keep track of the score. Emblazoned on all of it—the balls, the lanes, the touch screen, the monitors—was an elaborate letter L. I tried not to take that as a reminder that none of this was supposed to be mine.

Instead, I focused on choosing the right ball. The right shoes—because there were at least forty pairs of bowling shoes on a rack to the side. Who needs forty pairs of bowling shoes?

Tapping my finger against the touch screen, I entered my initials. HMV. An instant later, a welcome flashed across the monitor.

WELCOME TO LACHLAN HOUSE, HAILEY MARIA VALE!

The hairs on my arms stood up. I doubted programming my name into this unit had been a top priority for anyone the last couple of days. And that means…

“Was it you?” I asked out loud, addressing the words to George Lachlan. Had one of his last acts on earth been to program this welcome?

I pushed down the urge to shiver. At the end of thesecond lane, pins were waiting for me. I picked up my ball, ten pounds, with a silver H on a dark green background.

Back home, the bowling alley had offered ninety-nine-cent bowling once a month. My mom and I had gone every time. I wished that she were here, and then I wondered: If she were alive, would I even be here? I wasn’t a Lachlan.

Unless the old man had chosen me randomly, unless I had somehow done something to catch his attention, his decision to leave everything to me had to have something to do with her.

If she’d been alive, would you have left the money to her? At least this time, I wasn’t addressing George Lachlan out loud. What were you sorry for? Did you do something to her? Not do something to her—or for her? I have a secret.… I heard my mom saying. I threw the ball harder than I should have and hit only two pins. If my mom had been here, she would have mocked me. I concentrated then and bowled. Five games later, I was covered in sweat, and my arms were aching. I felt good— good enough to venture back out into the House and go hunting for the gym.

An athletic complex might have been a more accurate term. I stepped out onto the basketball court. The room jutted out in an L shape, with two weight benches and a half dozen workout machines in the smaller part of the L. There was a door on the back wall.

As long as I’m playing Dorothy in Oz… I opened it and found myself looking up. A rock climbing wall stretched out two stories overhead. A figure grappled with a near-vertical section on the wall, at least twenty feet up, with no harness. Marcus. He must have sensed me somehow. “Ever climbed one of these before?” he called down.

Again, I thought of Julian’s warning, but this time, I told myself that I didn’t give a damn about what Julian Lachlan had to say to me. I walked over to the climbing wall, planted my feet at the base, and did a quick survey of the available hand- and footholds.

“First time,” I called back to Marcus, reaching for one of them. “But I’m a quick learner.” I made it until my feet were about six feet off the ground before the wall jutted out at an angle designed to make things difficult. I braced one leg against a foothold and the other against the wall and stretched my right arm for a handhold a fraction of an inch too far away. I missed it. From the ledge above me, a hand snaked down and grabbed mine. Marcus smirked as I dangled midair.

“You can drop,” he told me, “or I can try to swing you up.” Do it. I bit back the words. Williams was nowhere to be seen, and the last thing I needed to do, alone with a Lachlan, was to go higher. Instead, I let go of his arm and braced for impact.

After I landed, I stood, watching Marcus work his way back up the wall, muscles tensing against his thin white T- shirt. This is a bad idea, I told myself, my heart thumping.

Marcus Rashford Lachlan is a very bad idea. I hadn’t even realized I remembered his middle name until it popped into my head, a last name, just like his first. Stop looking at him. Stop thinking about him. The next year is going to be complicated enough without… complications.

Feeling suddenly like I was being watched, I turned to the door—and found Julian staring straight at me. His light eyes were narrowed and focused.

You don’t scare me, Julian Lachlan. I forced myself to turn away from him, swallowed, and called up Marcus. “I’ll see you in the library.”

*****

The library was quiet when I entered. Dark wood shelves, leather-bound books, more old money vibes than the rest of the house combined. I took a seat and waited.

Marcus strolled in at 9:30, smelling faintly of fresh soap and arrogance.

Julian followed a minute later, sleeves cuffed, starched shirt buttoned up like armor.

“What are we doing today?” Julian asked, voice casual, gaze sharp.

“We?” Marcus replied. “Is there a mouse in your pocket, big brother?”

Julian rolled his sleeves tighter. “Can’t an older brother spend time with his younger brother and an interloper of dubious intentions?”

“He doesn’t trust me with you,” I said flatly.

“I’m such a delicate flower,” Marcus said dryly. “In need of constant supervision.”

Julian didn’t flinch. “So it would seem.” His smile was practiced, lethal. “What are we doing today?”

Why is it so hard to ignore his voice?

Marcus shot me a look. I sighed. Might as well.

“We think George’s letter to Marcus had a clue,” I said. “About what he was thinking when he wrote the will.”

Julian’s jaw tensed.

“Oh come on,” Marcus cut in, “don’t tell me you thought he left a fortune and forty rooms of madness behind without one last mystery.”

“What he was thinking,” Julian repeated, sharp eyes making a casual study of my features, “and why he left everything to you.” Marcus leaned back against the doorframe. “It sounds like him, doesn’t it?” he asked Julian. “One last game?”

I could hear in Marcus' tone that he wanted Julian to say yes. He wanted his brother’s agreement, or possibly approval. Maybe some part of him wanted for them to do this together. For a split second, I saw a spark of something in Julian’s eyes, too, but it was extinguished so quickly I was left wondering if the light and my mind were playing tricks on me.

“Frankly, Marcus,” Julian commented, “I’m surprised you still feel you know the old man at all.”

“I am just full of surprises.” Marcus must have caught himself wanting something from Julian , because the light in his own eyes went out, too.

“And you can leave any time, Jules.”

“I think not,” Julian replied. “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.” He let those words hang in the air. “Or is it? Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

My eyes darted toward Marcus, who stood eerily, absolutely still.

“He left you the same message,” Marcus said finally, pushing off the doorway and pacing the room. “The same clue.”

“Not a clue,” Julian countered. “An indication that he wasn't in his right mind.” Marcus whirled on him. “You don’t believe that.” He assessed Julian’s expression, his posture. “But a judgemight.” Marcus shot me a look. “He’ll use his letter against you if he can.”

He might have given his letter to Agnes and Maxwell already, I thought. But according to what Clara had told me, that wouldn’t matter.

“There was another will before this one,” I said, looking from brother to brother.

“Your grandfather left your family even less in that one. He didn’t disinherit you from me.” I was looking at Julian when I said those words. “He disinherited the entire Lachlan family before you were even born—right after your uncle died.”

Marcus stopped pacing. “You’re lying.” His entire body was tense.

Julian held my gaze. “She’s not.”

If I’d been guessing how this would go, I would have guessed that Marcus would believe me and that Julian would be the skeptic. Regardless, both of them were staring at me now. Julian broke eye contact first. “You may as well tell me what you think that godforsaken letter means, Marcus.”

“And why,” Marcus said through gritted teeth, “would I give away the game like that?” They were used to competing with each other, to pushing to the finish line. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t belong here—between them—at all.

“You do realize, Marcus, that I am capable of staying here with the two of you in this room indefinitely?” Julian said.

“As soon as I see what you’re up to, you know I’ll reason it out. I was raised to play, same as you.”

Marcus stared hard at his brother, then smiled. “It’s up to the interloper of dubious intentions.” His smile turned to. a smirk.

He expects me to send Julian packing. I probably should have, but it was entirely possible that we were wasting our time here, and I had no particular objection to wasting Julian Lachlan’s.

“He can stay.”

You could have cut the tension in the room with a knife.

“All right, Heiress.” Marcus flashed me another wild smile. “As you wish.