Page 33 of The Final Gambit
A stone that killed at least as many birds. A more elegant glass ballerina. A sharper knife.
But he knew about Eve all along.
CHAPTER 25
Alisa left. Oren took up position in the hall, and all I could do was stare at the bag. Even without opening it, I knew in my gut what I would find inside.A game.
The old man had left me a game.
I wanted to call Jameson, but everything he’d said the night before lingered, ghostlike in my mind. I didn’t know how long I stood there staring at my last bequest from Tobias Hawthorne before Libby poked her head into my room.
“Cupcake pancakes?” My sister held out a plate, piled high with her latest concoction, then followed the direction of my gaze. “New laptop bag?” she guessed.
“No,” I said. I took the pancakes from Libby and told her about the leather satchel.
“Are you going to… open it?” my sister prodded innocently.
I wanted to see what was in that bag. I wanted—so badly—to play a game that actuallywentsomewhere. But opening the satchel without Jameson here felt like admitting that there was something wrong.
Libby handed me a fork, and my gaze caught on the inside of her left wrist. A few months ago, she’d gotten a tattoo, a single word inked from wrist bone to wrist bone, just under the heel of her hand.SURVIVOR.
“Still thinking about what you want for the other wrist?” I asked.
Libby looked down at her arm. “Maybe, for my next tattoo, I should go with…open the bag, Avery!” The enthusiasm in her voice reminded me of the moment when we’d first found out that I’d been named in Tobias Hawthorne’s will.
“How aboutlove?” I suggested.
Libby narrowed her eyes. “If this is about me and Nash…”
“It’s not,” I said. “It’s just about you, Lib. You’re the most loving person I know.” Enough of the people she’d loved had hurt her that, these days, it seemed like she saw her giant heart as a point of weakness, but it wasn’t one. “You took me in,” I reminded her, “when I had no one.”
Libby stared at both of her wrists. “Just open the darn bag.”
I hesitated again, then got annoyed with myself. This wasmygame. For once, I wasn’t a part of the puzzle, a tool. I was a player.
So, play.
I reached for the bag. The leather was supple. I let my fingers explore the bag’s strap. It would have been just like the old man to leave a message etched in the leather. When I found nothing, I unclasped the flap and flipped it open.
In the main pouch, I found four things: a handheld steamer, a flashlight, a beach towel, and a mesh bag filled with magnetic letters. On the surface, that collection of objects seemed random, but I knew better. There was always a method to the old man’s madness. At the beginning of each Saturday-morning challenge for the boys, the billionaire had laid out a series of objects.A fishing hook, a price tag, a glass ballerina, a knife.By the end of the game, all of those objects would have served a purpose.
Sequential. The old man’s games are always sequential. I just have to figure out where to start.
I searched the side pouches and was rewarded with two more objects: a USB drive and a circular piece of blue-green glass. The latter was the size of a dinner plate, as thick as two stacked quarters, and just translucent enough that I could see through it. As I held up the glass and peered through it, my mind went to a piece of red acetate that Tobias Hawthorne had left taped to the inside cover of a book.
“This could serve as a decoder,” I told Libby. “If we can find something written in the same blue-green shade as the glass…” My head swam with the possibilities. Was this the way it was for the Hawthorne boys after so many years of playing the old man’s games? Did every clue call to mind one they’d solved before?
Libby darted to my desk and grabbed my laptop. “Here. Try the USB.”
I plugged it in, feeling like I was on the verge of something. A single file popped up:AVERYKYLIEGRAMBS.MP3. I stared at my name, mentally rearranging the letters.A very risky gamble.I clicked on the file. After a brief delay, I was hit with a blast of sound, undecipherable, verging on white noise.
I pushed down the urge to cover my ears.
“Should we turn it down?” Libby asked.
“No.” I hit Pause, then pulled the audio track back to the start. Bracing myself, I turned the volumeup. This time, when I hit Play, I didn’t just hear noise. I heard a voice, but there was no way I could make out actual words. It was like the file had been corrupted. I felt like I was listening to someone who couldn’t get a full sound out of their mouth.
I played the full clip six, seven, eight times—but repeating it didn’t help. Playing it at different speeds didn’t help. I downloaded an app that let me play it backward. Nothing.
