I am writing to officially invite you to join me at my home. I’d like to speak about an inheritance.
As the years get shorter, I worry I might depart this world with no one to share my knowledge and wealth with.
I hope you’ll indulge this old man his final wishes. Best of luck.
Cordially yours,
Elias Blackwood.
“Wait a second,” I said. “Who is Mr. Smith, then? He made it sound likehewas the one with the inheritance.”
“Maybe you’ve found the first clue,” Kieran suggested.
I doubted that, since it was part of our invitation, but I was fully invested now.
The second page detailed our pack.
The Rhodes Pack: a prominent, influential pack from New York City. The omega built an empire from the ground up, the rest of the pack falling into place, each adding something new until it thrived beyond anyone’s imagination.
They’ve done many business ventures with influential partners worldwide.
Driven. Business-savvy. Often the center of gossip magazines.
“That must be how we know him,” Wilder cut in. “If our pack is big into business and influential partners, Blackwood would definitely fit.”
“That’s a good point,” I said, finishing the last few lines quickly. “I don’t think this will give us anything else, but now we know the important stuff. Let’s keep looking.”
We split up like it was an escape room, digging through books, furniture, under rugs, anything that might hold a clue.
“They didn’t introduce the other packs to us,” Mason pointed out. “But I’ve seen at least two prominent names pop up.”
“Just not ours,” Lennon said. “I’ve found nothing here either.”
“Wait! Look at this,” Kieran said. He was on his knees, sweeping under furniture. He pulled back, dragging a small metal box with him.
We gathered as he set it on the desk and flipped the lid open.
“Playbills,” Cade said. “Broadway. New York City. This is for us.”
They were props this time. Every play was a made up name, but the dates were in bold.
“October. October. October,” I tapped each one. “Same date. Different years.”
“October twenty-first,” Mason read. “We should write this down.” He patted his pockets like a notebook might mysteriously appear. Every one of us was locked in now.
“It’s literally a writing desk,” Lennon pointed out, grabbing a notepad from the top of the desk and snagging a pen from the holder.
Mason scribbled our notes down and tucked the small notepad into his pocket. “I doubt there’s anything else here.”
We moved on to the next room. I could hear the soft murmurs of the other packs, but we were still alone.
The next room was a makeshift parlor. A large fireplace flickered with a fake fire, real heat blowing out of it and making it extra cozy. Plush red couches and chairs made it look inviting. I almost sat down, but the mystery was too good.
Maybe one day, when we had a real packhouse, I’d make a room just like this. Somewhere we could all find comfort and interact. I loved my nest, but after everything, I loved the idea of spending time with my pack more.
I’d done my research on deltas. They liked darker dens, just like omegas liked enclosed spaces without harsh lighting. I could meld both ideas and give us a place that felt like all of ours.
“You coming, princess?” Wilder asked when I didn’t move.
