Page 16 of The Weekend Getaway

He’d stared at the words, laughing to himself. He agreed that the truth was good to know, but the truth about what? The envelope had no return address. He had no idea who’d sent the note, and when he questioned the staff—the servants who’d been loyal to his father until the day he’d died and were now forced to work for the wayward, undeserving son they secretly despised or risk unemployment—they werecurt, and decidedly unconcerned, in their denials of knowledge.

Phil had tossed the note, forgetting the message before he’d ripped the paper to shreds and dropped it into the trash.

Two weeks later, another note arrived on the large, orangewood desk in his father’s study, where he spent most of the day perusing reports about oil leases and potential drilling sites, which was one of his duties as a vice president in the company his grandfather had founded decades earlier.

He didn’t think the second note was a prank. And yet he was hesitant to believe it had been written for him, even though the envelope bore his name and address. The note was a cipher, a phrase presenting itself as a clue. It revealed that lies had been told but didn’t specify which lies. Or why the lies had been told? And there was no mention of who had told the lies. As Phil ruminated on the note, despite wanting to ignore it, he couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with his past.

A certain moment in his past.

An incident he regretted. The main cause of the guilt and shame he’d lived with for the past fifteen years.

The third note increased his suspicions.

The fourth note confirmed his worst fears, which had increased in severity because of the previous notes.

Together, the four strips of paper were a chilling indictment. Proof of a diabolical treachery inflicted upon him. The last note gave the first note frightening clarity.

The first note had been a harbinger, a warning.

The last note was a revelation.

The last note was the truth.

But knowing the truth hadn’t set him free. If anything, the truth made him feel shackled, determined, and obsessed with discovering why Alex betrayed and lied to him.

Phil started thinking about how he would find Alex and demand an explanation. But part of him didn’t want to know. The truth was ugly and sordid. He wanted to put the truth behind him, but how could he? If the notes were true, and he had no reason to believe they weren’t, how could he let Alex get away with what he’d done?

Men had been killed for lesser offenses.

But then Mia’s invitation came.

Phil took it as some kind of sign. Permission to proceed. The invitation to an island getaway with old friends was the confirmation he needed to find out what happened the night of his party.

On a random Thursday in September, he’d opened his father’s thirty-room summer chalet to hundreds of college coeds, most of whom he knew, and had invited and lots more who were strangers to him, friends of friends and tagalongs and people who’d found out about the party and decided to show up.

Phil hadn’t cared. The more the merrier. He’d set out to host an epic event. Philtastic’s Philapalooza. He wanted the party to be epic. Legendary. Something the campus and surrounding communities would be talking about months later. A party people would kill themselves for not attending. If you hadn’t been at Phil’s party, you would be shunned, treated like a leper, marked by your inability to get into theparty, either by invitation or ingenuity. You’d be judged as less than, someone to be avoided, and even worse, you would become someone who would not be invited to parties in the future. The party would become a social badge of honor.

It was supposed to be all that and so much more.

Turned out to be nothing like he’d imagined.

He’d started the night laughing and drinking, the life of the party, the man of the hour, constantly surrounded by the lively, boisterous crowd of revelers, indulging in riotous debauchery, feeling as though he owned the town and everyone in it.

He ended the night confused and disoriented, covered in blood.

CHAPTER 13

PHIL

The knock startled him.

He’d been about to dwell on the past, ruminating on that horrible night and how those tragic events had ruined his life. Sent him into a downward spiral of despair and guilt.

There was another knock, quick and sharp. Insistent. As though the person on the other side was eager to get inside the room. Phil stared at the door. His heart kicked. Who was at his door? Alex? Chris? Mia? What the hell did they want?

Wary, he stood and walked to the door.

With an exhale, he grabbed the knob, twisted it, and pulled it back, opening the door.

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