Page 36 of Insidious Threats
The studio was one large, open room. Tall windows, left bare to let in the sunlight, covered three walls. Recessed lights dotting the ceiling supplemented the natural light, and gleaming white walls reflected it back. Floor-to-ceiling shelving had been installed along the fourth wall. The shelves were filled with an array of art supplies. Stacks of sketchpads, tubes of paint, pencils, brushes, crayons, palettes, and everything in between sat lined up, waiting to be pulled off the shelf and put into service. In one corner, a small stainless steel utility sink sparkled. In the opposite corner, a tidy stack of drop cloths waited to cover the light pine floor. Beside them, blank stretched canvases stood at attention next to a pair of empty easels.
“Wow. I had no idea your dad was so serious. I mean, I know he loves art—everyone knows that. But, this is quite a setup.” She turned to gauge Ellie’s reaction.
Ellie shrugged. “It’s his greatest regret, I think. Did you know he was accepted into the master’s program in painting at the Royal College of Art in London? It’s apparently the best in the world. But my grandpa said no way—go to law school or lose his trust fund. He should have told the bastard where to shove the trust fund.”
Sasha noted the bitterness in the younger woman’s voice but was curious to see how Ellie’d respond to being challenged. “You mean, like you did? Oh, wait …”
She bristled. “That’s different. Iwantto be a lawyer.”
“Just like your dad and all those other Charles Anderson Prescotts—Uno through Quatro?”
“No, just likeyou!”
Sasha blinked. “What?”
Ellie yanked down her hood and ran her fingers through her short blonde hair. Somehow, the result was slightly tousled layers. If Sasha tried that, she’d look like she’d been electrocuted.
“True story. Do you remember busting me trying to steal whipped cream at a summer associate event the year before you left the firm?”
Sasha furrowed her brow and searched her memory. The innumerable Prescott & Talbot events had blurred together in one indistinct mess, but she managed to call up a fuzzy image of a teenaged Ellie in a frilly pastel sundress trying to palm a canister of whipped cream from a buffet table.
“The ice cream sundae bar?” she ventured.
“Right. Nico DeAngeles dared me to take it. You saw me, and you were so cool about it. You treated me like I had a brain, like I mattered. You told me I wasn’t going to be able to grow up and kick ass if I had brain damage from doing whippets. I was so sheltered, I didn’t even know what whippetswereor why Nico wanted it. But, I never forgot the way you talked to me. Then, like a year later, you were all over the news for the Hemisphere Air thing, kicking ass. And I knew then—that’swhat I wanted to do, too. Dad just assumed I’d follow in his footsteps because of the trust fund and be as miserable as he is. But I love practicing law. Or, well, I did.” Her face crumpled.
“You’re not working?”
For all of Ellie’s sneering at her trust fund, it must be nice not to have to work for six months after quitting a job.
Ellie shook her head. “I didn’t want to jump at the first big firm that dangled an offer under my nose. I’m not stupid. I know most lawyers would want me because of my name and connections. But, I’m not sure I’m big firm material.”
Privately, Sasha thought that most humans weren’t big firm material, but she kept that opinion to herself for the moment. “That’s smart. Take your time and find something that’ll be a good fit.”
“Yeah. I was thinking about working for an advocacy group. I had an interview lined up with the Innocence Project at the beginning of the month. But, then Dad went radio silent on us, and my mom freaked out. So … I thought I better stick around here, at least for now.”
Right. Cinco was missing. Back to business.
“You wanted me to see some paintings?” She scanned the room.
Ellie moved the stack of canvases to reveal a door set into the wall. “They’re back here. In this little room where my dad sometimes rests when he’s in the middle of a piece.”
19
Sasha followed Ellie into a room that had undoubtedly started life as a closet. A cot was crammed against one wall and a straight-backed chair was shoved up against the opposite wall. Ellie flicked on an overhead light and pulled a thin stack of large, heavyweight papers from a high shelf.
She removed her parka and dropped it down onto the cot, then perched on the bed beside it. Sasha shed her coat and took the chair. Their knees nearly touched. The open door let in light and air and kept the tight space from becoming claustrophobic. Ellie held the pages on her lap and passed them to Sasha one at a time. She sat in silence as Sasha studied them one by one then placed them on the edge of the cot. After Sasha finished with the final image—a large hammer splitting the Earth into two, she rubbed her finger over the textured paper and squinted at the title scrawled on the bottom of the page in Cinco’s minuscule printing.‘Unintended Consequences.’
“So what’s your impression?” Ellie asked in a quiet voice.
“Um, there’s definitely a theme.” The sketches were dark in visual tone and in subject matter: the destruction of the world; a man plummeting from a window to his almost certain death; a graveyard with stacks of cash protruding from the ground in the place of headstones; and, most distressing, a self-portrait of Cinco as a sad clown.
Ellie laughed without humor. “Yeah. And if you’ve seen any of my dad’s stuff, it’s all vibrant and colorful. Personally, I think it verges on chaotic, but at least it’s joyful.”
Sasha considered. “Do you think he was trying to tell your mom something?”
She shrugged. “Sure seems that way. But whatever he thought he was communicating went right over her head—at least that’s what she claims.”
“You don’t believe her?”
