The Final Gambit (The Inheritance Games #3)(37)

“Niv,” Max repeated. “Spelled N- I- V?”

“Yes.”

“N-I-V,” she repeated. “As in New International Version?”

I tilted my head to the side. “New international version of what?”

“The B-I-B-L-E—and now, I am officially going to have Sunday school songs running on a loop all night.”

“The Bible,” I repeated, and suddenly, it clicked. “Luke.”

“My second-favorite Gospel,” Max noted. “I’ll always be a John girl at heart.”

I barely heard her. My brain was going too fast, images flashing through my mind, slices of memory piling up one after the other. “The numbers.”

The combination might be just a combination, Jameson had said. But there’s also the possibility that the numbers themselves are a clue.

“What numbers?” Max asked.

My heart beat viciously against my rib cage. “Fifteen, eleven, thirty-two.”

“Are you faxing kidding me?” Max was delighted. “Am I about to solve a Hawthorne riddle?”

“Max!”

“The book of Luke,” she said, “chapter fifteen, verses eleven through thirty-two. It’s a parable.”

“Which one?” I asked.

“The parable of the prodigal son.”





CHAPTER 34

None of us slept more than three hours that night. We read every version of Luke 15:11–32 that we could find, every interpretation of it, every reference to it.

Nine seconds left on the timer. Eight. I watched it count down. Eve was sitting beside me, her feet curled under her body. Libby was on my other side. The boys were standing. Xander had the recorder ready.

Three. Two. One—

The phone rang. I answered it and set it to speaker so everyone could hear. “Hello.”

“Well, Avery Kylie Grambs?”

The use of my full name did not go unnoticed. “Luke, chapter fifteen, verses eleven through thirty-two.” I kept my voice calm, even.

“What about Luke, chapter fifteen, verses eleven through thirty-two?”

I didn’t want to perform for him. “I solved your puzzle. Let me talk to Toby.”

“Very well.”

There was silence, and then I heard Toby’s voice. “Avery. Don’t—”

The rest of that sentence was cut off. My stomach sank. I felt fury snaking its way through my body. “What did you do to him?”

“Tell me about Luke, chapter fifteen, verses eleven through thirty-two.”

He has Toby. I have to play this his way. All I could do was hope my adversary would eventually tip his hand. “The prodigal son demanded his inheritance early,” I said, trying not to let any of the emotions I was feeling into my voice. “He abandoned his family and squandered the fortune he’d been given. But despite all of this, his father embraced him upon his return.”

“A wasteful youth,” the man said, “wandering the world—ungrateful. A benevolent father, ready to welcome him home. But if memory serves correctly, there were three characters in that story, and you’ve only mentioned two.”

“The brother.” Eve came to stand beside me and spoke before I could.

“He stayed and worked alongside his father for years for no reward.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone line. And then, the slash of a verbal knife: “I will talk only to the heiress. The one Tobias Hawthorne chose. ”

Eve shrank in on herself, like she’d been struck, her eyes wet, her expression like stone. On the other end of the line, there was silence.

Had he hung up?

Panicked, my grip on the phone tightened. “I’m here!”

“Avery Kylie Grambs, there are three characters in the parable of the prodigal son, are there not?”

Breath left my lungs. “The son who left,” I said, sounding calmer than I felt. “The son who stayed. And the father.”

“Why don’t you ruminate on that?” There was another long pause, and then: “I’ll be in touch.”





CHAPTER 35

Ruminating looked like this: Libby went to make coffee, because when things got bad, she took care of other people. Grayson stood, straightened his suit jacket, and turned his back on the rest of us. Jameson began pacing like a panther on the prowl. Nash took off his cowboy hat and stared at it, an ominous expression on his face. Xander darted out of the room, and Eve lowered her head into her hands.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she said hoarsely. “But after he cut Toby off—”

“I understand,” I told her. “And it wouldn’t have mattered if you’d stayed silent. We would have ended up in the exact same place.”

“Not exactly.” Jameson came to a stop directly in front of me. “Think about what he said after Eve interrupted—and the way he referred to you.”

“As the heiress,” I replied, and then I remembered the rest of it. “The one Tobias Hawthorne chose.” I swallowed. “The prodigal son is a story about inheritance and forgiveness.”

“Everyone who thinks that Toby was kidnapped as part of a giant forgiveness plot,” Nash said, his drawl doing nothing to soften the words, “raise your hand.”