The Final Gambit (The Inheritance Games #3)(52)

This is it.”

My game. Quite possibly the last bequest of Tobias Hawthorne. And this was it? Don’t trust anyone. “But what about the USB?” I said. The game couldn’t be over. This couldn’t be all that Tobias Hawthorne had left us with.

“Misdirection?” Jameson tossed out. “Or maybe the old man left you a game and a USB. Either way, this started with the delivery of the bag, and it ends here.”

Setting my jaw, I righted the crystal in the flashlight’s beam, and the words reappeared on the floor. DON’T TRUST ANYONE.

After everything, that was all the billionaire had for me? My grandfather always thought seven steps ahead, I could hear Jameson saying. He saw dozens of permutations in how things could play out, planned for every eventuality, strategized for each and every possible future.

What kind of strategy was this? Was I supposed to think that Toby’s captor was closer than he appeared? That his reach was long, and anyone could be in his pocket? Was I supposed to question everyone around me?

Take a step back, I thought. Go back to the beginning. Consider the framing and your charge. I stopped. I breathed. And I thought. Eve. This game had been triggered when we met. Jameson had theorized that his grandfather had foreseen something about the trouble that had brought Eve here, but what if it was simpler than that?

Much, much simpler.

“This game started because Eve and I met.” I said the words out loud, each leaving my mouth with the force of a shot, though I barely spoke over a whisper. “She was the trigger.”

My thoughts jumped to the night before. To the solarium, the files, and Eve with her phone. “What if ‘Don’t trust anyone,’” I said slowly, “really means ‘Don’t trust her’?”

Until I said the words, I hadn’t realized how much I’d let my guard down.

“If the old man had intended for you to be wary only of Eve, the message wouldn’t have said don’t trust anyone. It would have said don’t trust her.” Grayson spoke like someone who couldn’t possibly be anything less than correct, let alone wrong.

But I thought about Eve asking to be left alone in Toby’s wing. The way she’d looked at the clothes in my closet. How quickly she’d gotten Grayson on her side.

If Eve hadn’t looked so much like Emily, would he be defending her now?

“Anyone includes Eve by definition,” I pointed out. “It has to. If she’s a threat—”

“She. Is. Not. A. Threat.” Grayson’s vocal cords tensed against his throat. In my mind’s eye, I could still see him on his knees in front of me.

“You don’t want her to be one,” I said, careful not to let myself feel too much.

“Do you, Heiress?” Jameson asked suddenly, his eyes searching mine.

“Do you want her to be a threat? Because Gray’s right. The message wasn’t ‘Don’t trust her.’”

Jameson was the one who’d mistrusted Eve from the start! I’m not jealous. That’s not what this is. “Last night,” I said, my voice hitching, “I caught Eve taking pictures of the files in the solarium. She had an excuse. It sounded plausible. But we don’t know her.”

You don’t know her, Grayson.

“And your grandfather never brought her here,” I continued. “Why? ” I brought my eyes back toward Jameson, willing him to latch on to the question. “What did he know about Eve that we don’t?”

“Avery.” Oren saying my name from the doorway was the only warning I got.

Eve walked into the Tea Room, her hair damp, wearing the white dress she’d worn the day she arrived. “He knew about me?” She looked from me to Grayson, a portrait of devastation. “Tobias Hawthorne knew about me?”

I was a good poker player, in large part because I could spot a bluff, and this—her chin trembling, her voice hardening, the aching look in her eyes, the set of her mouth, like she wouldn’t let her lips turn down—didn’t feel like a bluff.

But a voice in the back of my head said three words. Don’t trust anyone.

The next thing I knew, Eve was walking toward me. Oren moved to stand between us, and Eve’s eyes angled upward, like she was taking a moment to steel herself. Trying not to cry.

She held out her phone. “Take it,” Eve spat out. “Passcode three eight four five.”

I didn’t move.

“Go ahead,” Eve told me, and this time, her voice sounded deeper, rougher. “Look at the photos. Look at anything you want, Avery.”

I felt a stab of guilt, and I glanced at Jameson. He was watching me intently. I didn’t let myself react—at all—when Grayson came to stand beside Eve.

Looking down, wondering if I’d made a mistake, I plugged the passcode Eve had given me into her phone. It unlocked the screen, and I navigated to her photo roll. She hadn’t deleted the one I’d seen her taking, and this time, I identified which file she’d photographed.

“Sheffield Grayson.” I brought my eyes back up to Eve’s, but she wouldn’t even look at me.

“I’m sorry,” she told Grayson, her voice quiet. “But he’s the wealthiest person in any of those files. He has motive. He has means. I know you said it wasn’t him, but—”

“Evie.” Grayson gave her a look, the kind of Grayson Hawthorne look that burned itself into your memory because it said everything he wouldn’t.