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The destruction had started before Alex left the compound, but her leaving had greatly exaggerated it. She cringed at every corner, at every building, at every familiar face locked in unfamiliar circumstance.
Once upon a time, the Wilsons had been the epitome of fashion. But today, groups of teens, young adults, and the elderly plodded along, bound for nowhere in particular, dressed in fraying suits and dresses several seasons out of date. The poorer classes walked among them, donning soiled clothes several sizes too small or too large, holes at the knees and elbows.
Lila wasn’t sure why the servants didn’t take up contracts with other families. Perhaps there were no servants left, and these were slaves. Or perhaps these servants were the most desperate, unfit for much more than the poorest lowborn family. Everyone had to work somewhere. Everyone had to eat. Perhaps this was the best some of them could do. Perhaps they were just as trapped as the highborn.
If there had been a waiting prime, Celeste Wilson would have been assassinated by her own family for such incompetence.
Lila parked in front of Wilson Tower, surrounded on all sides by rows of empty spaces. A decade before, the lot would have been full. On a day like today, the tower should have caught the sun, glittering like a precious gem on the crown of a queen. Now a thin layer of grime covered every mirrored surface, stealing its beauty. It might have been made of plastic and paste, nothing more than a child’s tiara.
A man emerged from the tower, clad in a well-worn golden blazer marked with a serpent coat of arms, hands clasped behind his back. His face lightened when he saw the women exit the vehicle, the dimple in his chin more prominent as he smiled.
“They said you were at the gate, but I didn’t believe them.” He picked up Alex in a large hug.
“Patrick.” His sister beamed after she was returned to the pavement. “Have you seen Simon?”
“No. Mother has forbidden it, just like she forbade us from seeing you.” The dark circles under Patrick’s eyes didn’t seem that far removed from the state of the compound. When the Randolphs took over the estate, every building would need extensive repairs and renovation. Of course, that assumed Chairwoman Randolph didn’t raze the structures and rebuild it all from scratch.
It would probably be cheaper.
Patrick took his sister’s arm and escorted the pair inside. They crossed over threadbare carpet, passed by peeling wallpaper, moved around the mismatched chairs in the waiting room, sliding by the spaces where priceless art had once hung on the walls. Alex stopped in front of a bright square nestled among the faded paint. “The Rembrandt. The Mill. It was here.”
“It sold at auction last year in the Netherlands. It was one of the first to go.” Patrick picked at the hole where the nail had once been. “I tried to stop her from selling it. I always thought you’d find your way back somehow, and that it should be here when you walked through the doors. Mother was adamant, though. We needed the money. I’m sorry, Alex.”
“What exactly was the money used for?” Lila asked.
“Making more money, I suppose. You have to spend money to make money.”
Lila and Alex locked eyes. Though Jewel’s age, Patrick had always been a little dim. It was lucky he was so handsome. He’d make someone a fine husband, as long as that someone wanted a sweet, beautiful puppy.
Patrick led them to the elevator, doors marred by a long dent and a curious round indentation that looked suspiciously like a bullet hole. Patrick would not meet her eyes after she touched it. As the doors rattled shut, Lila feared that the elevator might not be strong enough to reach the top of the tower.
“A serviceman was out here last week for the annual inspection. It’ll hold,” Patrick assured her.
“Did it pass?”
Patrick nodded.
“With or without a bribe?”
Patrick ignored Lila’s swipe.
The still-rattling doors opened directly into the chairwoman’s waiting room. They were the last indication of the infection raging throughout the Wilson compound, for the twentieth floor of Wilson Tower was a genie’s bottle of opulence and elegance. Cream-colored chairs lined the walls in the waiting room and matched the hand-painted wallpaper. Peace lilies sat atop mahogany tables, potted in gilded vases. Everything had been replaced recently, the entire office redecorated and renewed in keeping with current trends.
Everything but the art. The same pieces still hung proudly upon the walls.
Patrick bowed and opened a door. “I will inform the chairwoman that you are here.”
Once he retired into the other room, Lila glanced at her friend. “He’s become her secretary. I don’t want to sound rude, Alex, but—”
“He’s not bright enough?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have phrased it so bluntly, but it’s suspicious that she’s using someone like Patrick to help her now, someone who doesn’t know enough to understand when things are a bit sketchy. She’s hiding something.”
“I agree, and I don’t like it.” Alex studied the art on the walls. “These aren’t the originals, you know. That Rembrandt over there? It’s a forgery. A very good one, but it’s still false. I used to sketch the original when I was little, whenever I was waiting for my mother to finish her work. It was worth millions. Every painting in here is gone, as are the ones downstairs. What has she done, Lila? I never thought it could get this bad.”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Lila retired to one of the arched windows, realizing that Chairwoman Wilson must have more than one secret account if so much of her estate had been sold off. “She’ll probably have us waiting at least twenty minutes. That’s time to make an inventory of the property.”
While they waited, Alex pointed out building after building that had been shuttered and what might have been moved or sold. A teenage boy interrupted them mid-conversation, wheeling a mop and bucket behind him. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, but his body was small for his age.
