Hidden Devotion (Trinity Masters #5)(13)
She was the Grand Master, the one person who had the right to choose her own trinity.
Why did she feel so sick at having sent that message to Devon?
Forcing herself not to think about it, she turned back to the notes her brother had left her. Harrison had been banging his head against the wall trying to decipher their father’s journals. She wasn’t going to bother with that—her brother didn’t know it yet but she fully intended to make him suffer by assigning him the task of continuing to go through the notes—so she went in a different direction.
Every person, and every trinity, had their own file, all neatly arranged. Luckily the majority of the records were hard copy only, particularly the notes on the trinities. Even with the best digital security their members could create, Harrison had ended up in danger. That meant that the only safe place for anything related to the members was here, in the Grand Master’s office. Having established that, now all she had to do was make sense of everything.
She’d been tempted to start with the current members’ records. She didn’t know everyone, and there were probably plenty of people waiting to be called to the altar, or who would benefit from the Grand Master evaluating their position and throwing the weight of the Trinity Masters behind their cause or career.
Like being admitted to a prestigious university, or joining a Greek house, the strength of the Trinity Masters was found in each person’s access to other members. With some of the most powerful and intelligent people in the country on the roster, new members were treated to meteoric rises within their chosen careers. Those who held positions with nonprofits or who were doing humanitarian work had access to businesses and foundations that could fund their causes. Artists met the right people, had benefactors, and got the media attention necessary to pursue their passions.
Juliette opened a cherry-wood filing cabinet, running her fingers over the neatly labeled folders. “Asher, Devon” was right near the front. Seeing Devon’s name made her stomach roll, so she closed the drawer. Checking through the other drawers and shelves, she familiarized herself with the contents of the office, tried to feel some ownership over the hundred-year-old books, brass lamps and heavy wood furnishings. Wondering vaguely when was the last time the oriental carpets had been vacuumed, she pulled up one corner and let it fall back, watching dust puff out. Coughing, she waived her hand in front of her face, turning her head aside. A small Victrola sat against the wall, the top closed. When she’d come here with her father, he would occasionally let her wind it up. Then he’d open the top and the two small doors covering the speaker. He’d set the needle on the record and she’d lean against the cabinet, liking the way the music seemed to rumble through her.
She touched the cabinet now—it was only shoulder height, so much smaller than the massive thing in her memory—and for a moment her chest felt tight with the desire to go back to being a child, free of the heavy burden now pressing down on her. She opened the top and the speaker doors. Not trusting herself to use it, she gently touched the mechanism and ran her hand over the lower set of doors. A finger-length brass plate was screwed across both doors, holding them closed, just as it had been when she was small.
Juliette frowned, for the first time wondering why. As a child, she hadn’t known—and wouldn’t have dared—to question, but she’d seen her share of antiques since then. The larger lower section of a Victrola was meant to store records. Why was this screwed closed?
“You have so many better things to do,” she whispered. “And why are you whispering?”
Letter opener in hand, she dropped to the floor in front of the Victrola. It took forever, but she got one of the tiny brass screws loosened enough that she was able to unscrew it the rest of the way with her fingers. Even then the doors wouldn’t budge. She ran the letter opener around the seams, clearing away accumulated gunk and wood wax. Another five minutes of tugging and prying and the doors gave with a pained groan.
“Eureka!” she cried. Juliette shook the fingers she’d banged when the cabinet gave way. “And we have…”
There were two wooden boxes, fit so snuggly in the space they must have been made for it. Each was about a foot tall and a foot and a half wide, stacked one atop the other.
Envisioning everything from pirate gold to Area 51s’ artifacts—both of which were the types of things that might end up in the Trinity Masters’ hands for safekeeping—Juliette hauled out the top box and opened it.
“Oh good…more paper.”
The top box seemed to contain aging manila folders. She pulled out a few and flipped through them.
“Birth certificate, report cards, doctors’ records…these are dossiers on people.” Flipping through some of the newer files—dated twenty-plus years ago—she decided they must be records for prospective members, who, for whatever reason, hadn’t been offered membership. There were names on the tabs, and she recognized the illegible scrawl as her father’s. The files were in reverse chronological order, and by the time she got to the bottom, the paper felt brittle and the birth certificates were dated fifty years in the past.
Turning to the lower box, she wasn’t surprised to find yet more papers, but these were older—the paper yellowy-tan. Some were bundled up in twine, others in old-style envelopes. The penmanship on these was slightly better, but the ink so faded it was barely legible.