Page 163 of Under the Lies

His eyes narrow, not agreeing with me.

As I let my mother pull me away, Noah tries to follow, but the man with thinning hair is insistent. He actually grabs Noah’s arm to keep him in place.

I have to give credit where credit is due. The man is ballsy.

My mother leads us through the house to the end of the hallway where my father’s office is.

She pushes me inside first.

My father sits behind his desk, a fat cigar in hand. Waiting.

I’m inhaling the rich, smoky aroma when the door clicks shut.

“Have a seat,” my mother instructs, not really giving me a choice as she pushes me farther into the room, into one of the chairs before my father.

He regards me with quiet eyes and a closed off face.

“She knows.” My mother walks to my father’s side, resting a dainty hand on his shoulder.

The frown on his face deepens.

“You don’t have to pretend I just found out you’re spies or anything.” I cross my legs, fighting calm. “I simply found out my grandfather stole art for a living and was one of the most notorious criminals never to be arrested. Pretty tame things.”

“Sayer.” My father’s voice is very much like his cigars. Thick and smoky. My name is a scold, a reminder to watch my tone.

I ignore the warning. “I just want to know why. Why was I kept from knowing?”

They share a look and it’s quiet in the room.

I want to shake them. I want the truth, not planned and strategic words. I’m tired of all these mind games.

“Stop stalling. Just tell me.”

And after I know, I’m leaving.

Maybe I’ll even try to salvage my birthday when I go.

“We made a deal with him. He got Harlow and we got you.”

I look between them. “What does that mean?”

“It means.” My father puts his burning cigar on the ashtray. “We got to raise you how we wanted to and we gave Harlow to your grandfather for what he wanted.”

“You just gave Harlow to him?” That doesn’t make any sense. “She lived with us.”

“But he was in charge of her.” My mother shrugs like she’s talking about a car service, not her daughter. “Don’t you remember how he would always come over whenever she got in trouble?”

Actually, I do. He even cut some of his “business” trips short because of some of Harlow’s incidents.

“Then why did she live with us?” I push. If they didn’t want my sister, why was she here? Why torture her with living with two people who didn’t love her enough to raise her.

“For appearance purposes. Think of the scandal if she didn’t live with us. Everyone would think we couldn’t take care of our children.”

“You couldn’t.”

My words drop like a bomb, creating a calm that’s unsettling.

Until my mother speaks.

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