Page 3 of The Shadow King's Brother

My brow furrows, a growing unease settling in my stomach. I try Google, typing in ‘B.C.’, but the results are useless.

I’m not sure why, but I feel a sense of urgency. Like something is slipping away, right before my eyes. It’s like this ‘BC’ has appeared from nowhere, like a ghost in our system. I pick up the phone and dial Pearson, our on-site accountant.

“Pearson, it’s Victoria. Do you know anything about an account, a company or a designation called ‘B.C.’?”

A pause on the other end, then his dry voice replies, “No, Miss Galli, I don’t recognize that.”

“Can you look it up?”

“I will review the books and see what I can find.”

“Please do that and get back to me immediately,” I say, hanging up the phone.

For a second, I consider calling Uncle Tuvio, but the thought of getting him involved right now makes my stomach clench. Maybe I can figure it out on my own, just this one time. Maybe if I work hard, I can prove that I don’t need to be taken care of.

There’s a knock on the door again. It’s probably Fiona with the new report and coffee—though that was too fast. And the knock... it’s almost frantic.

Before I can even process the interruption, Fiona bursts through the door, her composure barely intact. She closes the door behind her, and lets out a puff of air. “Miss Galli, I’m so sorry, but security... the gentleman... he... it’s that gastly man again—” She stumbles over her words, unable to finish.

“He’s pushing himself in this time,” she continues, her voice tight with frustration. “Security is on him, but he has to stop coming here!” Her lips form a thin line, disapproval written clearly on her face.

I know who it is.

I wonder silently if Fiona has something like a ‘people I would never deal with’ list, and my friend is now at the top, with a bold red highlight.

I sigh. “It’s okay, Fiona, you can let him in.”

It feels like my life is a constant cycle of putting out fires and cleaning up other people’s messes, and it’s tiring.

The door bursts open, not with a knock or a polite entrance, but a full-on, unhinged shove. Jackson barrels into the room, and the scent of stale beer and unwashed clothes hits me like a wall. His eyes are bloodshot, the whites veined and red, and his hair is a tangled mess. He looks like he hasn’t seen sleep in days, his skin pale and clammy. I wrinkle my nose, trying not to breathe too deeply.

“Jackson—hun—,” I start, my voice is strained.

“I found a clue!” he slurs. His whole body is trembling.

“Jackson, I’m trying to look over some stuff. Can we talk later? Or tomorrow?” I rub my temples, the beginnings of a headache thrumming behind my eyes.

“I know, I know, I’ve been off lately, but this time, Vicks, I got it. I really do. Just listen to me!”

He grabs an apple from the fruit bowl on my desk, sinking his teeth into it. He paces back and forth, bits of apple left behind like breadcrumbs, his energy almost frantic—like he’s trying to outrun his thoughts or tear through his skin.

I nod silently to Fiona, a sign that she can leave the room. The roll of her eyes is neither subtle nor friendly. She scurries out.

“Jackson, everything’s been off lately. Maybe we should meet and talk it over with Elio. Do you want to come to dinner tonight? Bring the kids? Mrs. Gambini would love to see them,” I say.

“No, Vickie,” he pleads, pushing the sweaty strands of hair from his forehead. “Please, listen to me.”

This whole situation feels like a never-ending cycle, a broken record that keeps playing the same sad song.

It’s the third time he’s shown up with a ‘clue’ for me this week, and it’s only Tuesday. Fiona should be used to it by now.

I try to change the subject.

“Jackson,” I say, reaching for his hand, but his eyes are flitting around the room, unable to focus on my face. “Did you go to that hearing? About getting back from leave? Back on the force?”

He stops pacing, his shoulders slumping as if all the energy has been sucked out of him. He looks down at the apple in his hand, the half-eaten core. Then, he drops the apple, the bite falling onto my desk, and the rest of it rolling onto the floor with a soft thud.

“I— I forgot— was that today?”

---