Page 4 of The Tower

I've never been good at flirting, but life presents an opportunity to approach him when he walks past me, balancing one last glass of champagne on his silver tray. I'm quick to decide that this glass was meant for me and use it as an excuse to get closer to him. But our encounter is cut short by his dumb sense of duty. He only stops long enough for me to reach for the glass, putting an abrupt end to any possible conversation by turning away from me just a moment after.

There was something in his eyes when he looked at me.

Interest. Curiosity.Lust.

Incredibly sexy.

Hell, just one or two more glasses of this champagne might even provide me with the courage to flirt with him for real.

I try to catch another glimpse of him as I wander through the room, but he's out of sight. I make sure to avoid eye contact with any of the guests when I make my way over to the panoramic view. I'm done talking for now and just seek a place to quietly drink another flute of golden liquid in solitude. Almost one and a half hours have passed since this started, and I know I'll have to be here for another two, at least. My presence is requested, despite my lack of interest in this event, and despite my non-existent connection to any of this.

Except for blood relation, that is.

Tonight is the opening ceremony for the Abbott Tower, a high-rise glass building that tops all others in town, making it the highest office building in a five-hundred-mile radius. My family had little to do with the building process, the design of the tower, the architecture, or the offices that will host several companies in the coming weeks. The tower is only named after us because we did one single but major thing—we financed it.

Old money families like mine love to plaster their names all over the place with such nonsense. Handing out checks, shaking a few hands, and sharing drinks among a self-regarding crowd to leave their mark on the city by having a new building named after them.

I hate to be a part of it. I hate being here tonight, and I hate feeling so out of place because it only manifests the ever-present indisposition I suffer when I'm surrounded by my family.

Not that there is much family to speak of. My parents have been gone for most of my life, I never had siblings or cousins, and every other blood relative that I know of has died in recent years—not always by natural causes. I can't help but feel uneasy about some of the circumstances that robbed me of my kin even though I may not have known them.

Both my grandfathers died of what was ruled a heart attack that came out of nowhere, and at both their funerals, I heard the whispers throughout the crowd.

"That was no heart attack. No way."

"Someone is after them."

"Someone wants the Abbotts to die out."

I tried to ignore them. It's just gossip spread by bored rich people. I tried to ignore the voices that told me there could be some truth to this, but it's so damn hard. Too much uncertainty surrounds the deaths of my relatives, including my own parents. The only thing that makes me not believe these dark assumptions is the lack of a motive because I can't for the life of me figure out why anyone would want to see my family dead. Yes, we're rich, and we have been for generations, and I know that's reason enough for some dogs in the manger to envy and hate us.

But is it reason enough to kill an entire family? A family that is guilty of no evil other than being rich?

Of course, I'm excluding myself in that assessment. I'm far from being free of sin and was a black seed from the day of my birth. That’s why no one here knows me, and most people don't even know of my existence. It's the reason I feel like a fish out of water tonight.

Why on earth people wanted me here is beyond me. I was surprised to find the invitation in my mailbox just days after returning to the city. It was sent from my uncle's office, signed with both his and my aunt's name, and addressed to me. No mistake. Still, it was weird. Neither of them had mentioned the event to me beforehand, and I'd just let them know I was coming back to the city over the summer. I didn't even find the invitation until two days ago, the day of my return. And when I called my uncle's office for confirmation, I was put off by the secretary and told that my uncle was too busy to talk to me, but that my presence would really mean a lot to him.

"It's really important to him and Margaret," she insisted.

Now that I'm here, I find that hard to believe because both my uncle and my aunt seemed surprised to see me when I walked through the door. And we barely exchanged more words than necessary, which is fine with me, but still odd, considering my uncle's secretary insisted that it was oh-so-important for me to be here tonight. I guess she was just speaking in general then, saying that the event itself was important to him, not my presence.

It's almost time for the only thing I've been looking forward tonight. The dimming of the lights so we can enjoy the view from up here. I love the sight of the city from above, and the prospect of a spectacular view is one of the main reasons I showed up. I want to make sure to secure a good place right at the window before they make their official announcement to turn the lights down.

My attention is so focused on finding a free spot at the window that I don't even notice I'm standing next to the person who allegedly appreciates my presence at this event more than his behavior would lead me to believe. My uncle turns around to me, an indignant expression turning to a gasp in surprise when he realizes that I was the one bumping into him.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Clyde," I say in the most polite tone I can muster. "Just wanted to make sure I get a good view of the city."

My uncle nods, looking more annoyed than happy to see me.

"Sure," he says. "Smart to get up here before they make the announcement."

"That's what I thought."

"Should be any moment now." He demonstratively checks the time on his Rolex, appearing uneasy.

I know why that is. I know why he hurries to turn his gaze away from me, looking for my aunt to join us and provide a much-needed buffer between two people who haven't been alone in the same room for years.

Because of what happened back then. None of us could ever forget about it or act as if it never occurred even though I know my aunt would love to pretend just that.

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