Page 150 of Cozen

The attendant glanced down at his ticket as she said, “I think that’s the first time I have ever seen this name.”

Sargon was used to that. “Oh?”

“Owen Sargon Jones.”

“Owen was a family friend, according to my father,” Sargon said.

And Jones was the name his mother and father adopted after they faked their death. Despite the fact their accents and features made it clear they were not born and raised Americans, they adopted common American names to blend in better.

At least on paper.

They even gave Sargon the given name Owen under his forged documents—it helped at times like these to use a different name when he didn’t want to leave a trail behind for Sargon Makri.

“Oh, not the given name—the Sargon, I mean. Is that a family name?”

“Something like that.”

More like … his parents way of holding onto the past they had given up because they had to run from it, and stay hidden.

“Ah. Have you been to California before, sir?”

“Born and raised,” Sargon replied.

Not a lie.

“Returning home, then?”

He nodded. “Yeah, finally.”

She raised a brow at the lack of carry-on in his hands. “It’s a long flight, sir. You didn’t bring anything to keep you entertained?”

Chuckling, Sargon tapped his temple and replied, “It’s all up here.”

He took very little with him when he went.

He left it all at home.

Home was with his heart, after all.

The attendant smiled again, and handed his freshly-stamped ticked back over. “I see. Well, enjoy your flight, Mr. Jones.”

“I certainly will.”

Pearl Astor was sitting when Cozen entered the grand dining room of the Astor mansion. The old woman barely looked away from the tea she was sipping as Fourth continued to read to his great-grandmother from a newspaper.

“You’re looking well,” Cozen said.

Pearl smiled, and her aging face cracked with deep lines around her mouth and eyes. “Oh, it takes more than a little sickness to keep me down, darling. Sit.”

Cozen eyed the angry Persian cat sitting in the chair closest to Pearl. She didn’t think moving the cat would be in her best interests considering it looked ready to fucking kill the first person who touched it.

“Do you want me to read you the review of the opera, or not?” Fourth asked. “It’s got some … well, prose you don’t have patience for, Great-Grandmamma.”

Cozen took a seat next to the cat.

Pearl peered over top the rim of her cup at Fourth. “Oh, is he all flowery with his descriptions?”

“A bit.”