The Inheritance Games (The Inheritance Games #1)(50)

Don’t just talk. Tell the story. Make them listen.

“I know why Tobias Hawthorne changed his will,” I said loudly. The response to that announcement was electric. There was a reason this was the story of the decade, one thing that everyone wanted to know. “I know why he chose me.” I made them look at me and only me. “I’m the only one who does. I know the truth.” I sold that lie for all I was worth. “And if you run a word about that pathetic excuse for a human being behind me—any of you—I will make it my mission in life to ensure that you never, ever find out.”





CHAPTER 44


I didn’t process the magnitude of what I’d done until I was safely inside Hawthorne House. I told the press that I have the answers they want. It was the first time I’d spoken to them, the first real footage anyone had of me, and I’d lied through my teeth.

Oren was right. Alisa was going to kill me.

I found Libby in the kitchen, surrounded by cupcakes. Literally hundreds of them. If she’d been an apology baker back home, the addition of an industrial-grade kitchen with triple ovens had basically taken her nuclear.

“Libby?” I approached her cautiously.

“Do you think I should go for red velvet or salted caramel next?” Libby was holding an icing bag with both hands. Blue hair had escaped her ponytail and was matted to her face. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“She’s been at it for hours,” Nash told me. He stood leaning back against a stainless-steel refrigerator, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his well-worn jeans. “Her phone’s been going off for just as long.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.” Libby looked up from the cupcakes she was icing to narrow her eyes at Nash.

“Yes, ma’am.” Nash smiled, wide and slow. I wondered how long he’d been with her—why he’d been with her.

“Drake is gone,” I told Libby, hoping Nash would take that as his cue that he wasn’t needed here. “I took care of it.”

“I’m supposed to take care of you.” Libby shoved her hair out of her face. “Stop looking at me like that, Avery. I’m not going to break.”

“’Course not, darlin’,” Nash said, from his spot leaning against the fridge.

“You…” Libby looked at him, a spark of annoyance lighting up her eyes. “You shut up.”

I’d never heard Libby tell someone to shut up in her life, but at least she didn’t sound fragile or hurt or in any danger of texting Drake back. I thought about Alisa saying that Nash Hawthorne had a savior complex.

“Shutting up now.” Nash picked up a cupcake and took a bite out of it like it was an apple. “For what it’s worth, I vote for red velvet next.”

Libby turned back to me. “Salted caramel it is.”





CHAPTER 45


That night, when Alisa called to read me the I-can’t-do-my-job-if-you-won’t-let-me riot act, she didn’t allow me to get a word in edgewise. After she’d said a terse good-bye, which seemed to promise more retribution to come, I sat down at my computer.

“How bad is it?” I said out loud. The answer, it turned out, was leading-story-on-every-news-site bad.

Hawthorne Heiress Keeping Secrets.

What Does Avery Grambs Know?

I barely recognized myself in the pictures the paparazzi had taken. The girl in the photos was pretty and full of righteous fury. She looked as arrogant and dangerous as a Hawthorne.

I didn’t feel like that girl.

I fully expected to get a text from Max, demanding to know what was going on, but even when I messaged her, she didn’t message back. I went to close my laptop but then stopped, because I remembered telling Max that the reason I had no idea what had happened to Emily was that Emily was such a common name. I hadn’t been able to search for her before.

But I knew her last name now. “Emily Laughlin,” I said out loud. I typed her name into the search field, then added Heights Country Day School to narrow the results. My finger hovered over the return key. After a long moment, I pulled the trigger.

I hit Enter.

An obituary came up, but that was it. No news coverage. No articles suggesting that a local golden girl had died by suspicious cause. No mention of Grayson or Jameson Hawthorne.

There was a picture with the obituary. Emily was smiling this time instead of laughing, and my brain soaked up all the details I’d missed before. Her hair was layered, and she wore it long. The ends curved this way and that, but the rest was silky straight. Her eyes were too big for her face. The shape of her upper lip made me think of a heart. She had a scattering of freckles.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My head shot up at the noise, and I slammed my laptop closed. The last thing I wanted was anyone knowing what I’d just looked up.

Thump. This time, I did more than just register the sound. I flipped my bedside lamp on, swung my feet to the floor, and walked toward it. By the time I ended up at the fireplace, I was fairly certain who was on the other side.

“Do you ever use doors?” I asked Jameson, once I’d utilized the candlestick to open the passage.

Jameson cocked an eyebrow and cocked his head. “Do you want me to use the door?”

I felt like what he was really asking was if I wanted him to be normal. I remembered sitting beside him at high speed and thought about the climbing wall—and his hand reaching out to catch mine.