The Becoming of Noah Shaw (The Shaw Confessions #1)(9)
“What about my sister?” My voice is new and rough-edged. “She loved our father, he loved her, she loves you, you love her—why is she being excluded?”
“She’s only fifteen, dear.”
“So? She’s far more dedicated to preserving my father’s legacy than I am.”
That earns a sharp-edged smile. “Your grandfather and I are less concerned with your father’s legacy than we are with the Shaw legacy. Your sister will marry, take her husband’s name, no doubt, as will her children. Whereas, yours—”
“Grandmother,” I say with a frozen little grin. “This is a difficult day for everyone. Why don’t we leave this for another time? We’re all exhausted, and there’s the incident to think about.”
Her eyebrows twitch at the word, but that’s all the acknowledgment I need to know that I’ve struck a nerve. Which I consider to be an invitation to continue. “We should be thinking about practicalities now, not an unknowable future.”
An expression of surprise, and dare I say, approval? “Yes. Well. That is a very mature suggestion, dear. Very well, then.” She stands and smooths out her dress, pats her hair—nervous tics. I’ve thrown her, which makes me wonder how much she thinks she knows of me, what she may have heard in the few years since I left home. And who might’ve told her.
“I’ll join your grandfather—I expect you’ll be along soon?” She turns to Ms. Gao, who offers a bit of a nod. Then, to me, “I’d like to introduce you to the manor’s curator. She’ll be the one to tell you everything you need to know about the estate. If you happen to run into her before we meet again, do come and find me so I can make a proper introduction. She’s wearing a red suit.” Grandmother punctuates her sentence with a sniff, playing painfully to type.
“Of course,” I say.
“Splendid. I’ll leave you to it.” She drifts slowly out of the room, as if waiting to be called back at the last second.
Ms. Gao does not approach the side table where the envelope lies, but indicates that I should open it. “In that envelope you’ll find your father’s personal financials—his liquid and real property assets, his wishes relating to Euphrates International Corporation, and—”
With my grandmother out of the room, I’m free to interrupt her. “Ms. Gao, I’d like to be very, very clear—I want nothing to do with my father. Including his money.” Her expression is glass. “Give it away, burn it, I don’t care. Give my sister what she needs and take the rest for yourself if you like.” Still nothing. “Do you understand me?”
“Perfectly.” She stands straight and still. “But what you’re asking is impossible, legally. The funds have been automatically transferred into an account in your name. The account numbers, everything you’ll need, is in that envelope. Ignore it if you like, but what belonged to your father is now yours to do with it what you will. You, and no one else.” She stands and leaves the room, leaving me alone with the poisoned fruit of my father’s poisoned labour.
The idea of touching the envelope repulses me. I intend to leave it there, to leave the room, the manor, the estate, everything behind.
But I don’t. I take it and open it, skimming my father’s last will and testament before something else catches my eye at the very end. The ghost of my father smiles as I read it.
Dear Mr. Shaw,
My sincerest condolences on your great and terrible loss. Naomi was a treasure; it was one of the great honours of my life to know her, and an even greater honour to teach her.
Your wife had a brilliant mind, of course, but it was her ferocious heart that struck me upon our first meeting. I thought I was prepared for it, but the extent of her gifts took even me by surprise, and mixed with the passion of her convictions, anyone in her orbit would find him or herself helpless to resist.
If she had been a lesser person, she could have used her gifts to indulge impulses and man’s inherently selfish nature. Instead, she gave her life to give life, and not just to your children.
My position prevented me from getting to know you—we met only once, for the very briefest of moments, and you had quite a lot else on your mind then, rightly so, as your son was being born.
As I know you’ve begun to suspect, Noah is indeed special, in ways I’m afraid I can’t begin to explain. It is the unfortunate nature of my own gifts that I am so limited in what I can say, but please know this: Your wife did not die in vain.
By the time you read this, I’ll have left Cambridge, and we are not fated to meet again. I urge you to spend what time you would otherwise waste on searching for me with your son instead—he needs you, and the world needs him.
Your wife has bequeathed to you the greatest gift. Don’t let her death be in vain.
Most Sincerely,
A. L.
7
A BLUNDERING ORACLE
WHEN I FIRST MET THE professor, I was with Mara at a botanica in Miami, and he was masquerading as a Santeria priest (which I would’ve preferred). Abel Lukumi a.k.a. Armin Lenaurd a.k.a. whoever the fuck he is, in reality, is nothing more than a Gifted con man. He used my father, my mother, and will use me if I allow it. Before he vanished, my father explained, quite insanely, that he believed I would have to kill Mara because of Fate and Destiny, or else she’ll inevitably kill me in some unspecified way. After that horror show, I received my own letter, as did Mara. Mine was from my mother, written to me before she died. Mara’s was from the professor, but the message to both of us was the same: The die has been cast. Your role has been written. Be the hero and play it, or there will be no happy ending for either of you.