Page 165 of Heartless Legacy

“The source of east side money matters.”

“What is that place? An accountant’s office?”

The person sitting behind Andrew says, “According to records, it’s the offsite storage facility that houses the original printed articles and research notes for the California Star.”

We watch as the team rummages through the file cabinets, looking for another clue. “What’s he got?” I tap the screen where the other second-year prospect is standing. His group ascended two years ago, making him senior to Holden.

“I can’t quite make it out from this angle. Oh wait. That’s it buddy. Take a picture.” We watch as he does just that. The tech guy immediately downloads a copy to our server. I read the headline and skim the article. It’s about a lawsuit between Raymond Taylor and his former business partner, Donald Clark.

Andrew says, “Something in that article caught his eye. We need more information on this company.”

A few minutes later, the tech has three more articles pulled up from different parts of the country that say the business was amicably dissolved, after the partners came to an agreement to end their relationship. The one in the California Star is the only piece written on the situation with a less positive slant.

“I found a connection.” Andrew and I turn to the tech guy. “Raymond Taylor is Gregory Lloyd’s maternal great-great-grandfather. He and Donald Clark were both league members.”

A few more key clicks and mouse swipes brings up more information. I say, “It looks like Clark walked away with the bulk of the profits and merged with another business while the Taylors were left to dig themselves back from almost total financial ruin. The Lloyds became the bloodline family in the league, while the Taylor side of the line dropped in status. They’re one of the lowest ranked legacy families now.”

Andrew asks, “And the Clarks?”

I answer, “They’re one of the most prominent families in The League. The head of the family is on the high council.”

I’m sure it was more than just a business deal gone bad. The entire situation was probably a way for the league to manipulate the rankings, putting certain families in place to support their agenda, leading me to wonder what the Taylors did to fall out of favor.

“I found it.” One of the fourth year prospects calls from the other side of the room. He’s out of frame, so we can’t see whatitis.

Thankfully someone asks, “You did? What is it?”

He answers, “Research notes for an article written a few months ago about an ongoing investigation into an investment firm on the east coast.”

“What makes you think this is what we’re looking for?”

“Because of this note in the corner with Harrison Nelson’s name on it.”

Everyone except Holden gathers around the fourth year. He’s still over by the file cabinet Lloyd was standing in front of, leaning against the wall as if he’s bored out of his mind.

Thea wiggles her toes in my lap as I massage her calves. “You look tired.”

“I am. This riddle is kicking my ass.”

“You want some help?”

“Sure, but I doubt you’ll find anything. There are a lot of bodies buried in that cemetery, and according to the map, there are acres of unused land still available. That could be the unclaimed land part of the clue, but it feels too easy. Plus, there’s no plot number 27638 in the existing or future planned layout, so what do those numbers even mean?”

I repeat her clue to myself.

1940-62. A blank canvas found just for you, 276 vast unclaimed plans in this space of 38 lands.

She grabbed the binders for years 1900 through 1962. Now we have burial records on our kitchen table and on the nightstand by our bed. Lifting her head, she says, “There are how many cemeteries in Canyon Falls? Three? I need to go check those out, too.” She grimaces. “I don’t even know how I made it to the crypt on my own. Cemeteries still give me the hives.”

Reaching higher on her leg, I pull her across the couch and into my lap. She’s accepting more physical touch these days, as long as she sees it coming. “You can always send someone from Delta Team to scope out the next location for you.”

She scrunches up her nose at the idea. “That’s not their job.”

Brushing her hair over her shoulder, I remind her, “Their job is to keep you safe. If that means sending them to look for clues in a cemetery because you can’t handle doing that, then that’s what they’ll do.”

Looping her arms around my neck, she catches me off guard when she asks, “How are you doing?”

“I’m good.”

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