Page 26 of Vicious Heir

“Sorry, but I can’t. I just can’t do it.”

Kennedy rolls her eyes. “Fine, I’ll go alone then.”

“Wait, no way. She’ll fire you!” I hurry after her as she stalks to the door. “Seriously, Kennedy, we’ll figure this out some other way. Pierre’s home; maybe he knows something?”

“Screw him. Your brother’s just as bad as Helena. You can come if you want, but either way, I’m searching that office.”

Kennedy storms into the hall. I watch her go, feeling desperate and powerless. She’s got that determined look in her eye. I’ve seen it many times over the years, and it means there’s nothing I can say that will change her mind.

If she gets caught alone, I can’t protect her. I might actually lose her forever. I don’t know if she’ll want to still be my friend once we’re not paying her anymore. I have a feeling she’ll leave me the way everyone else has. Once I’m not useful anymore, I’ll be nothing.

But if I go, maybe I can deflect the blame.

“I hate you sometimes, you know that,” I hiss at her when I catch up.

She beams and slips an arm through mine. “Come on, this is fun! Besides, Helena’s getting her hair done, which means we haveat least another hour before she’s home. We’ll be in and out, no harm done.”

Grandmother’s office is on the other side of the house. We pass several other staff members, but none pay much attention. They’re used to me and Kennedy moving around the house together, arm in arm, off to cause some harmless trouble somewhere.

Except this is different. This is Grandmother’s office.

We reach the ornate door. Kennedy doesn’t even pause. She wrenches the brass knob and shoves it open, striding inside like she does this all the time.

I stare in after her. Bookshelves line the back wall. Antiques fill the shelves. The floor is gleaming hardwood with hand-carved colorful inlays. The ceiling is more shining wood with a chandelier dangling over a massive old desk. The chairs are rich leather, and the curtains are crushed velvet. I bet this room hasn’t changed much over the years as successive leaders of the Willing-Morris family have come into power.

“Say what you will about that old lady,” Kennedy says as she starts opening drawers set into a massive antique filing cabinet, “but the broad loves her hard copies.”

“This is so stupid,” I mutter, taking a step inside. “Really, really stupid.”

“Oh, quit complaining and help me.” She waves me over urgently. “There’s, like, a million papers in here, and I don’t think it’s been organized in ages.”

I force myself over to her, grumbling the whole time. She’s right; the filing cabinet is a total mess. The folders aren’t labeled, andtheir contents seem totally random. Receipts for construction projects are grouped with legal documents. I skim their contents and move on, looking for anything about Demir Yilmaz or anything on an organization called Gray Wolf.

“Junk, junk, junk,” Kennedy mutters, then she laughs. “Oh my god, it’s aPopular Mechanicsmagazine from 1973. Why is this thing even in here?”

“Focus,” I tell her, flipping through ancient stock certificates for companies I’ve never heard of and deeds to various properties I didn’t even know we owned. There are tax returns, correspondence, insurance policies for some of the more important art pieces we keep around the house, all scattered in with random garbage like birth announcements and wedding invites. There’s a letter apparently to my great-grandfather talking about a fishing trip from fifty years ago.

“This is madness,” Kennedy says after we’ve rifled through half the drawers. “Nowaywe’ll find anything.”

“I don’t get why Grandmother wanted to keep me away from all this. It’s not like I could find something important.”

There’s a creak in the hall. Then a new voice cuts in. “She wanted you to keep away because she knew you’d make the mess even worse.”

I freeze. Kennedy’s face goes pale.

My brother’s standing in the doorway, frowning in at us.

Pierre is a few years older. He’s got a square jaw and rugged good looks. Women were always attracted to him, even when we were younger. Now he’s married and going a bit soft in themiddle, though he still keeps up his appearance and always has on expensive, designer clothes.

“This isn’t what it seems,” I say quickly, shoving the filing cabinet closed. “Kennedy was just helping me, uh?—”

Pierre holds up a hand. He glances at my friend. “You can go, Kennedy.”

She gives me a pathetic, searching look, but only shakes her head. “Don’t blame her,” she says quickly. “It was my fault.”

“I know you probably put her up to this, but my sister needs to grow a backbone. You can go, Kennedy. I want to talk to her for a moment.”

“Sorry,” she whispers before hurrying away, eyes downcast.

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