Page 32 of Devil's Riches

“What did it say?”

“It said: Note to self: remember I moved all the GCL info/papers into safe.”

“GCL?”

“Yes. I figured it could mean ‘Golden Circle Ledger’ or ‘Golden Circle Log’, and that maybe your dad was the organization’s record-keeper,” I said. “That’s why I was trying to break into his safe when you caught me that night. I wanted to see if I was right, or if it was just something else that was totally irrelevant.”

Nate was silent for a moment. Then he leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly. “GCL could mean Gregory Carson Lockwood.”

My brows shot up. Until now, I had no idea what Greg’s middle name was. “Oh my god,” I said, one hand fluttering near my mouth. “That makes sense. More sense than ‘Golden Circle Ledger’, anyway.”

Nate nodded grimly and leaned back in his seat again. “Here’s what I think based on what you’ve told me so far,” he said. “I think my dad knew your dad, as evidenced by the contact details in the diary, and he might’ve been helping him with his investigation.”

“You think he was the source?”

“Yes. He could’ve suspected my uncle Greg of being involved in something shady, and he would’ve been right, because we now know that Greg was a serial killer. So Dad might’ve been keeping notes on him to pass on to your father for his exposé, and then he decided to keep them in the safe in case Greg or my mom ever went through his study and found out what they were up to. The note you found could’ve been about that.”

I nodded. “But then Greg and the rest of the Golden Circle found out about my dad’s investigation anyway. They framed him for those murders at Blackthorne to destroy his credibility, and then…”

I trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud.

“Then they killed him to shut him up permanently,” Nate finished for me. “Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m wondering if they killed my father as well, for knowing too much. Same as yours.”

“The car accident could’ve been a setup,” I said, eyes widening. “It makes sense, because we already know that Greg wasn’t even in the car at the time of the crash, even though the official story is that he died in it, right next to your dad.”

Nate abruptly stood up. “We need to look in that safe,” he said.

I followed him out of the library, heart pounding.

When we stepped into Francis Lockwood’s old study on the fourth floor, a wave of déjà vu washed over me, almost making my legs buckle. The spot I was standing in right now—next to a portrait on the left wall—was exactly where I was standing when I first saw Nate cruelly smirking at me from across the room. At the time, I was trying to break into the safe that was hidden behind the painting.

The memory made my cheeks flush hot with a mixture of shame and regret. I was stupid that night. Stupid enough to get caught, and stupid enough to let my attraction to a complete stranger sabotage my escape.

Nate pulled the painting away from the wall and keyed in some numbers on the front of the safe. “My birthday,” he explained. “Dad used it as his password for everything.”

The safe swung open with a soft hiss. I craned my neck to see inside it. Nate let out a soft curse. “There’s nothing in here,” he said, clenching his jaw. “Someone cleared it out.”

“That could be how the Golden Circle found out about my dad’s investigation in the first place,” I said, heart sinking with disappointment as I stared at the empty space. “They could’ve found all the notes your dad was keeping for him in here.”

Nate lifted one shoulder in a vague shrug. “Yeah, maybe. But who the fuck knows? That whole theory about our fathers knowing each other might be totally wrong,” he said. “There’s just too much shit we don’t know. Too much shit that doesn’t make any sense.”

I lay a hand on his arm. “Let’s go back to the library and write all our questions down, like you said earlier. We’ll put it all in one big document with my dad’s letter and notes. That way we can keep track of everything we know and everything we still need to know.”

He nodded, shook my hand off, and strode out of his father’s study without another word. I padded down the hall behind him, mind whirling with questions.

When we returned to the library, Nate picked up the laptop and glanced over at me. “What do you think we should ask Greg?” he asked.

I hesitated, scratching the back of my head. “We should start by asking him about the people he murdered. I want to know why he did it. Is he just a psychopath who did it because he enjoys killing so much, or was he being paid by the Golden Circle to do it for some other reason?”

Nate nodded and typed it all out. “We should also ask why he displayed the last thirteen bodies in public at Blackthorne,” he said. “He killed over five hundred other people, and no one ever knew about that because he didn’t display any of them.”

“We should ask where he hid the remains of the others too. It’s weird that no one has ever found them when there’s so many of them.”

“Good idea.” He typed for another few seconds and then glanced back at me. “After that, we should ask about the Golden Circle. When was it created, and why? What exactly do they do? And who is—or was—part of it?”

“I think it’s safe to say your family is involved, judging by what we know so far,” I said. “But that still leaves eleven other families to identify.”

“Exactly.” Nate frowned. “Also, we need to find out why the hell Greg was locked down in that bunker for the last ten years. He didn’t tell you, did he?”

---