The Pawn (Endgame #1)(58)

I pull out my phone, trying to pretend I’m not looking for his name. I want him to call me, to tell me he’s sorry. But he doesn’t. There are lots of missed calls. None from him.

Almost unthinking I press the last name. Harper.

“Where have you been?” she demands.

“I—” My voice breaks, because I don’t know how to explain. I don’t even understand it myself. Almost every myth references love, betrayal. Heartbreak. Universal truths that I’ve read a thousand times but still can’t comprehend. No story can explain this pain that feels too big for my body.

“Justin is missing.”

Awareness rises like the tide, slow but ineffable. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he never went back to Yale. I know a couple guys over there. One who’s on the sailing team with him. He went AWOL.”

“He came to see me, but…”

Gabriel swore he wouldn’t hurt him. Or did he? I can’t be sure I got the promise from him. Where would Justin have gone if not back to school? He might have stayed at his parents’ house in Tanglewood, but he would have at least texted his teammates. Even with winter creeping up, they continued to sail.

I drop the phone onto the seat. It slides onto the floor as the limo stops.

When the car stops at the gate, I already have the door open.

Lights are on in the house when my father’s evening routine should be finished. No one should be here. A man in a suit emerges from the front door. I run toward the house, my heart pounding with a new fear.

“Ms. James?” he asks.

“That’s me. What’s going on?” I try to push past him, but he’s blocking my path. “Where’s my father?”

“I’m Mr. Stewart. We spoke on the phone.”

That catches my attention. Pushing past the panic, I focus on him—on the solemn expression in his eyes. He looks as kind as he sounded on the phone. And worried.

“Oh God. No.”

“Your father suffered a coronary incident this evening. He’s been taken to Tanglewood Hospital. I don’t have the details yet, but our emergency staff is interfacing with the doctors there to make sure he has the best care.”

He’s been standing in front of the door, and as I turn my head, I see something yellow affixed to the thick wood. It pulls me closer, almost as if I’m hypnotized. Mr. Stewart is still talking, something about complications and interventions, but he’s just background noise.

In bold letters the yellow paper says NOTICE OF CRIMINAL FORFEITURE.

“How is that possible?” I whisper.

The house is owned by my trust, which is owned by me. Uncle Landon said it would be safe. From the very beginning, he told me that. Protected from my father’s crimes. The auction would have covered the real estate taxes, the maintenance—except it’s too late.

Somehow I’m too late.

The expression of sympathy on Mr. Stewart’s face is the worst thing I’ve ever seen. Worse than the cruel look on Gabriel’s face when he said the words magic cunt. “We received a call yesterday that Mr. James would be required to vacate the premises.”

“Did Daddy know?” My voice cracks. “Did he know we’d lost the house?”

A grim pause. “He knew.”

There’s only one question. “Who?”

Did Uncle Landon find a way to break through the trust, his revenge for choosing the auction over his proposal? It hurts to think about, but maybe that’s not the answer. Maybe it’s much more obvious—and much more painful. Did Gabriel Miller figure out a way to circumvent the trust and take ownership of the house?

I look down at the yellow sheet of paper, already crushed in my fists. I smooth it open as if it’s an ancient scroll, the secrets of lost treasure written on parchment. There’s legalese about vacating the premises—that’s what my mother’s legacy has been reduced to, premises.

And then I see it, the holding company with a corporate address.

Miller Industries.

That’s Gabriel Miller’s company. Which means he now has possession of this house. Did he engineer this entire thing? A ruthless takeover, except this isn’t business. It’s personal. He must have known what I would find when he sent me away.

And he had hired Mr. Stewart. Gabriel might have known about my father’s coronary, too. Had he sent me home as some twisted kindness, knowing my father would need me now?

But I won the game, didn’t I? You lost.

No, Gabriel doesn’t know how to be kind.

I latch on to the only hope I have. “There has to be something we can do. Fight it. Appeal. This is my house. My mother’s house.”

Mr. Stewart shakes his head. “You’ll have to speak to a lawyer.”

A lawyer, like the kind who couldn’t save my father from disgrace. The kind who made sure he paid every cent he owned in restitution and penalties. They won’t help us. “What happens?” I say, desperate now. “You must have seen this before. What happens to the house?”

“It depends,” he says slowly. “But in these cases, where the house is taken to settle payments owed, it will be put up for sale. It will be put up for auction.”

My heart clenches hard. Put up for auction, like my body. Like everything about my life, for sale to the highest bidder. I already sold my virginity, but it didn’t matter. I still lost the house. And my father might die.