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“He was somewhere in the Caribbean when she died.” I exhale sharply. “But I do think he hired someone. Or maybe he asked your father to do it since he was in town that day. Knowing what I know now, they both would’ve had the same motive. They’re equally guilty as far as I’m concerned, regardless of who actually did the dirty work.”
“Were you and Ainsley home when it happened?”
“No. We were on a playdate a few houses down that afternoon. Looking back, I think my mom wanted to get us out of the house so she could pack our things without drawing attention. I think my dad somehow found out she was planning to run, and he put a stop to it before she could make that happen.
"I will never forget that day. It was getting late, and my mom didn't pick us up when she was supposed to. She wouldn't answer the phone when Mrs. Wallace—that's the neighbor—called. Finally, Mrs. Wallace brought us home herself, thinking maybe Mom's phone died, or she fell asleep. No one answered when we rang the bell, so we walked around the house to check the back. Ainsley tripped along the way and scraped her knee, so Mrs. Wallace stopped to take care of her.
“I kept going, though. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad had happened. When I rounded the corner of the house, I saw her floating face down in the water. I jumped in the pool, trying to save her, but as soon as I managed to flip her over, I knew it was too late. She was heavily bloated...her skin was almost...gray. Seeing her like that will haunt me for the rest of my life.”
“God, Kingston. No wonder you hate them so much.”
“Yeah.”
Jazz turns her head toward me. “Were you living in this house back then? Is that the pool?”
"Yes, on the house. Not exactly for the pool."
Her delicate eyebrows knit together. “What does that mean?”
“My dad’s second wife—the one he married not even a year after my mom died—had it redone. Ainsley and I wouldn’t go anywhere near it, so my dad told her about my mom’s accident. She was freaked out by the whole thing, so she hired someone to expand and redesign the landscape of it." I grind my molars together. "That's right around the time she demanded we remove all traces of our mom from the house as if that would erase the fact that she was dead or something."
“What a bitch.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“Does Ainsley know? I mean, about our fathers?”
“She knows they’re involved in something shady, but she has no idea it’s this bad.” I shake my head. “And I don’t want that to change until I get proof that’ll take them down. I have measures in place to keep her as safe as possible, but I don’t want her to know the details, Jazz. Ainsley’s poker face is shit, so if she knew anything specific, it’d put her at risk.”
“Agreed.” Jazz nods her head in understanding. “But Bentley and Reed know?”
“Yeah, they know everything. I kind of went off the rails for a while after I got back from San Francisco. I was so goddamn angry all the time. I couldn’t figure out how to channel it into something productive. I was becoming reckless. I had to vent before I did something that couldn’t be undone. They’re my brothers—I trust them with my life.”
Jazz takes a moment to collect herself. Swiping away the last of her tears, she asks, “What about the police report? Wasn’t your dad a suspect?”
“John found no record of a report being filed.”
Jazz tucks her feet beneath her. “I don’t understand. How is that possible?”
My jaw tics. “I think our fathers have a lot of powerful people in their pockets.”
“You think they’re bribing them?”
“I think they’re blackmailing them. I’ve seen some of these men at dinner parties and whatnot. Something’s...off. They practically salivate whenever my sister or Peyton are nearby, even when they were barely teenagers. And the older I get, the looser their tongues get as the night wears on. They assume like father like son, I suppose. Hell, why wouldn’t they? Our fathers think I’m just as misogynistic and perverted as they are.”
“Why would they think that?”
“Because that’s what I want them to believe. That’s how I’m gaining their trust. Trust me, I loathe every minute I have to spend in their presence, but it’s the role I have to play. And I’m going to keep playing it until I get what I need to nail their asses.”
Jazz traps her lower lip between her teeth. “Is that why you were so awful to me at first? Because you were pretending to be like them? Or were you projecting your feelings for my sperm donor on to me?”
I think about her question for a moment. “Full honesty?”
She gives me a wry look. “I think that’d be implied at this point, but if you need me to spell it out, yes. Full honesty.”
"Before we met, I was indifferent more than anything. I knew your mom had just died, and that you grew up in the projects, so I assumed you'd be this meek, grieving girl, who did not want to make waves. That you'd be grateful you suddenly had a rich daddy who rescued you from the system. After a period of mourning, I thought you'd eventually fall in line with Peyton's group and just be another inconsequential rich bitch."
“And after we met?”
