Page 67 of The Reckoning
I snap. Not really at Sebastian. More at myself, our circumstances, at the distance I feel between these men I’ve shared so many years with. “I don’t fucking know. I need this fixed. I need Lilian safe. That’s what I need.”
“I don’t know what’s going on in your head anymore, man,” Drew says, apparently taking exception to my tone. “We’re here to help, so let us help. Maybe the evil twin has some ideas?”
“Evil twin?” Arson repeats, amused rather than offended. “How original.”
“You know what I mean,” Drew says, not backing down. “I don’t care which of you is more evil. I need to know what we are getting into here.”
I step between Drew and Arson before this can escalate further. But Arson speaks up anyway. “What you get is the truth. About everything. The Hayes family, the Facility, what really happened at the boathouse that day. No more secrets, no more lies. And you get the satisfaction of paying Aries back for all thetimes he stepped up to save your ass without question. I’ve been watching your little gang for years. I know your secrets. And I’ve kept them.”
Sebastian’s eyebrows rise fractionally—the equivalent of shocked disbelief from anyone else. “The boathouse incident? You mean when?—”
“When our mother died,” Arson confirms, watching Sebastian carefully. “Yes. That incident.”
A heavy silence falls over the room. The boathouse has been taboo for years, a subject none of my friends dared broach directly. They knew the official story—that I had a troubled twin who caused an accident that killed our mother—but none of them knew the truth.
Not even Drew, apparently. Some small part of me always thought he knew. His family had been there that day, too.
“I’m in,” Lee says suddenly, breaking the tension. “This sounds way more interesting than debugging the trust fund baby app I’ve been working on.”
“Sebastian?” I prompt, turning to the most cautious of my friends.
He considers for a long moment, gaze moving between me, Arson, and Lilian. “The Harlowe will is likely a public record. Accessing it should be straightforward, assuming it wasn’t sealed for some reason. I’ll make some calls.”
Relief washes through me. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he cautions. “I’m not promising results, just effort.”
Drew is the last holdout, his expression unreadable as he studies Arson. “You’re really going through with this? Taking down your own family?”
“Not my family,” I correct. “Just Patricia and Richard. And anyone else involved in whatever they’re planning for Lilian.”
“Same difference,” Drew shrugs. “The Hayes name, the Hayes empire—it’s all connected. You bring down one piece, the rest follows.”
“That’s the idea,” Arson confirms, a savage satisfaction in his voice.
Drew nods slowly. “All right. I’m in. But we do this my way—careful, controlled, no unnecessary risks.”
“Your way,” Arson repeats skeptically. “The way that involves betraying your best friend to his long-lost twin?”
Drew’s expression hardens. “I made choices I’m not proud of. We all have. I’m here now, trying to make it right. I let things slide, I wasn’t as observant as usual, and I apologize for that. But that is the last I’m going to say about it. Drop it and accept our help, or get the fuck out.”
“How noble,” Arson sneers.
“Can we save the pissing contest for later?” Lilian interrupts, frustration evident in her voice. “We have work to do.”
“The lady has a point,” Lee agrees, already pulling out his laptop. “Where do we start? Patricia’s emails? Medical records? The will?”
“All of it,” I say, the weight of command settling back on my shoulders like a familiar coat. “Sebastian, start with the will. Lee, see what you can find on Patricia’s medical connections—focus on anything related to the Hayes Enterprises. Drew?—”
“I’ll secure transportation and a safehouse,” he finishes. “Somewhere off the grid but comfortable enough for extended use. You’ll need somewhere safe to go after the fallout at least.”
“And us?” Lilian asks, gesturing between Arson, herself, and me.
“We stay here tonight,” I decide. “It’s secure enough for now, and we all need rest before whatever comes next.”
“I’m not sleeping here,” Arson objects immediately.
“Then don’t sleep,” I snap, patience finally breaking. “Stand guard, pace the halls, give the mirror dirty looks—I don’t care. But we’re staying put until morning.”
