Cracked Kingdom (The Royals #5)(67)

She sways toward me, her eyes dropping to my lips. My jeans grow tight and my heartbeat picks up. I tighten my fingers around her and pull—

“And we’re in!” Larry crows.

Hartley jumps off my lap and races over to the bank of computers.

I heave a frustrated sigh, pull out my T-shirt and adjust myself. I’m so weak when it comes to Hartley. While my two friends chatter, I try to envision Larry naked, coming out of the locker room showers and scratching his ass. “Want to smell something good,” he’d say, holding out his fingers. The team would groan.

My hard-on deflates immediately. I get up and amble over to join them. They’re excited about something. Hart turns a beaming smile toward me.

“I think I know what to do.”





Chapter 27





Hartley





After saying thank you a thousand times to Larry and a promise to keep him supplied with his favorite snack—Doritos—for the foreseeable future, East and I leave and review the treasure trove of information that Larry loaded onto a dummy phone. His magic pulled up my old emails, camera roll, and text messages.

My inbox contains a couple hundred spam interspersed by school assignments. The only other information of interest is a chain of emails between me and Bayview National Trust about an educational trust left by my grandmother that I can access at the age of seventeen. The trustee believed that the money was to be used for college, but agreed that the language was ambiguous and said only “educational purposes” and therefore I could use it toward Astor Park.

It is my mom’s dream that I attend Astor Park, I had written. Thank you for making that happen. So. My parents haven’t paid a dime toward my Astor Park tuition. I arranged everything myself, and they couldn’t say a damned word about it because Grandma’s trust was in my name and I was old enough to access it.

I feel a deep sense of triumph about that, because I was able to outsmart my dad once. That means I can do it again.

The camera roll has nothing of interest. I was disgustingly boring, filling the space with pictures of landscapes, my favorite band members, and the occasional scowling selfie.

It’s the text messages that net us a winner. Starting a little after last year’s Thanksgiving, I began texting someone named Mrs. Roquet in hopes that she would flip on my dad. At my blank face, Easton quickly explains that Mrs. Roquet is the woman my dad took a bribe from. She gave him money in exchange for getting her son’s drug case dismissed. I don’t know what set me off at that point to reach out to the woman—my messages only implied I was worried about my sister.

Mrs. Roquet. I’m Hartley Wright. Would you be around to talk sometime?

A day passed without a response. I sent another text.

Hartley Wright again. I’m worried about my sister. I haven’t been able to contact her in months. I think you can help me.

After a week of waiting I grew impatient and started spamming her several times a day. I finally got a response back after Christmas.

Stop texting and calling me. I’m blocking your number.

I show these with East with a frown. “After she blocked my number, I must’ve started calling her from a bunch of different ones,” I explain, “because after New Year’s she writes, ‘If I agree to talk to you, then will you leave me alone?’”

“Do you have any idea when you spoke?”

“It would have to be after April, because I have one message there that says, ‘I’m thinking of you and your loss.’”

“April is when Drew Roquet had his overdose,” Easton muses.

Larry had found that information for us along with Mrs. Roquet’s address. “She must’ve decided that the punishment for bribing someone was worth speaking the truth.” That seems brave to me.

“The last message you have is from this past summer?” East leans over my shoulder to read the screen.

“Right, but nothing else. If I got the statement, why didn’t I turn Dad in? I can’t imagine that I would’ve ignored her, right? I wouldn’t have gotten this message and let it sit. I did stuff. I got the Bayview Trust to release some of my trust to me. I enrolled in Mom’s favorite school, probably to get in her good graces.” It hadn’t worked. She was hardened against me. I didn’t last more than a couple weeks after the accident before she decided I was too dangerous to share the same household as her. She knew I was getting too close to the truth, too close to bringing an end to her perfect life.

But why was the last response I had from Mrs. Roquet from this past summer? And why hadn’t I acted on it?

I read the message again.

Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I had to think about it, but you’re right. It’s not like my son is around anymore. I should’ve let him go to prison. Maybe that would’ve saved him. I paid your father $25K to lose the drugs that Drew had on him, and I’m willing to say that in court if you need it. It’s been three years and I think about it every night. I feel better getting it off my chest. Let me know when you want to meet.

“I never told you anything about this?” I ask East.

“No. You said you heard your dad arguing with his boss about dismissing the charges against Drew and you saw him in the car with a different woman, not the Roquet lady. That’s when he broke your wrist.”