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Zhi sped down the streets, thankful for the horsepower in his car, uncaring of the speed limits on the street. He wasn’t one for breaking the law, but if the authorities came after him, he would definitely use his connections to get out of the jam and get to where he needed to be.
Blessedly, the streets were mostly empty at the early hour. The cops must still be at breakfast. He made it to the address on the solicitor’s card faster than a magician could pull a rabbit out of his hat.
Zhi parked, taking up two spaces. He leaped out of the car, uncertain if the door had closed. He hadn't changed or showered. Not because of the plumbing, which was still being repaired. But because he didn't care. Getting to Spin or Eleanor or whoever she was, was more important than anything.
He raced into the building, shirttails hanging out, shoes muddy from his time on the pier. A glance in the door’s window showed his hair was completely out of place.
He charged past the receptionist and marched up to the door with Schiessl’s name on it. Zhi’s frame filled the doorway of the large office to see the tall man surrounded by a stack of papers.
"Where is she?" demanded Zhi.
Schiessl didn’t even look up at him. He shuffled some papers around on his desk looking entirely put out. “I assume you mean Lady Trent."
“So, she is noble?”
The solicitor's eyes rolled, though he still didn’t look up. "In another time period, no. But with today's loose morals and laws, yes. Lady Eleanor Trent, the illegitimate daughter of Lord Trent of Feldkirch of Austria.”
Zhi didn't care about any of that. He only cared to find Spin and bring her into his arms. To show her the man he was now, the man he would be because of her. No, not just because of her, because of everyone he cared about.
Those close to him didn't care about his title or wealth. His friends liked him for who he was, not the numbers in his bank account. His staff stayed because they believed in and respected him. His mother loved him.
And Spin? She hadn't been interested in any of the trappings around him. She'd been dragged into liking him because of the connection between them. It was unseen like a chord struck on a keyboard or strummed on a guitar. He couldn’t see it, but he felt it resonate through him.
Zhi turned back to the solicitor. "Just tell me where she went."
The man shrugged. "I don't know? She didn't say."
Zhi was back where he started. But she came back to the estate once. Perhaps she’d come again. It was entirely possible that they were ships in the night who had passed each other by again. Lark had said her bags were gone, but surely Spin wouldn’t leave without talking to one of them.
There was a little juice in his phone now. He’d plugged it in while he’d driven there. Zhi tapped on the social media icon for Instagram, preparing to send her a message. He looked up to see that the solicitor held up a small rectangle that looked like a check.
"She left this for you."
Zhi stepped forward. It certainly was a check. The small piece of paper was an extremely large check.
"What is this?" Zhi said.
"Her inheritance. She left it to you."
"Me?"
“She left it to the Mondego estate, to be precise. It's enough to cover all your debts."
For a brief second his heart soared. They were saved. His family, his legacy, they were all saved. But then his stomach clenched as he did the tally. They may have been saved, but at what cost?
If she were going to leave him this check she could've put it in his hand. She could’ve come back to the house and put it in his mother's hand. Why would she leave it with the solicitor?
He knew the answer. It turned his stomach and stopped his heart. The answer was because she had no intention of coming back.
Zhi had gained everything and lost it all. But he wasn't giving up. He had to get her back. The estate was a house. Spin had become his world. He just had to find her and tell her so.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Spin scrolled through the tracks on her song list. The most played over the last two weeks were sappy love songs and angry chick music. But further down the list were classical songs. Songs she fell asleep to every night.
Her finger hovered over the delete key that would put the songs in the trash bin. In the end, she lifted her thumb. It was an empty gesture. The songs were in the cloud, just like her head was.
Spin brought the beat down, bringing her set to a close. The set she’d played in the warehouse club hadn’t moved her. Her feet hadn’t left the ground. Her head had stayed present. She’d woven the beats seamlessly, setting the crowd on a melodic fire, but she couldn't get lost in the music she’d made.
