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A better plan would have been to confront him at his office, somewhere more public. Wasn’t that how they did it in fiction? I should have never come alone. I should have brought someone with me. I screamed at people who made these kinds of choices in movies.
“You must be Mrs. Donahue.” I held out my hand. “I’m Lyric.”
The man in the suit stepped between us as she reached to shake my hand. Fucking prick.
“As she said, Caspian isn’t home.”
I looked around him to Mrs. Donahue. “Would it be okay if I left him a note or something? It’s kind of important.” My heart raced as I waited for her answer. What the fuck was I thinking?
The Terminator-in-a-Suit glared at me. If she said no, I half expected him to shoot lasers at me as I ran down the circular drive back to my car.
“Sure. Evan will show you to his room.” She exchanged a look with the asshole in front of me, then gave me a small smile before walking back to a part of the house where laughter and the sounds of female voices echoed off the walls.
Evan heaved a sigh. “This way.”
I smiled victoriously.
Lyric- One.
Evan- Zero.
He closed the front door behind me, then led me across a massive open space with marbled floors and high ceilings that opened all the way past the second story. The walls were ivory and decorated with expensive artwork. In the middle of the floor there was an intricately monogrammed letterDpainted in black. A wide staircase on one side of the room led to a mezzanine level that overlooked the open space below. I thought people only lived like this in movies.
I followed him up the stairs, eyeing every inch of space along the way. One of those doors had to be Kipton’s office. He could have walked out at any moment. What then? Did I just confront him in front of his butler? In front of his wife while she sipped on her mimosa and laughed with her friends? Did I keep up the lie about being here for Caspian? What if Caspian showed up while I was still here? A million different scenarios ran through my head. None of them ended well for me. I was so far out of my zone. I should have just gone home, tried to forget what I knew, and focused on being a typical teenage girl.
But my conscience wouldn’t let me.
Evan opened one of the doors off the mezzanine. “Here you go.”
Shit. This dude was really just going to stand here and wait for me to live out my lie. What now?
Get rid of him.
I stopped just outside the doorway. “Do you think you could grab me a piece of paper and a pen?” I patted my pockets and my ass as though I expected a notebook to miraculously appear.
He rolled his eyes and let out another sigh. “You could always just text him like a normal person,” he mumbled under his breath as he walked off to presumably find what I asked for.
Nothing about this situation is normal, buddy.
I stood there, my gaze bouncing from one door to the next, wondering what was on the other side of them all. And this was just the second floor. There was a whole other domain to explore downstairs. Even if I made a break for it, there was no way I could search each and every room before Evan—or someone—found me and had me carted off the property in handcuffs—and not the fun kind.
By the time he returned with the paper and pen, I’d conjured up enough courage to do what I came here to do—even if it wasn’t in person like I’d hoped. On second thought, it was probably better that it wasn’t in person. I had more balls when I wasn’t staring evil directly in the eye.
I walked over to a dark wood dresser, set the paper down on the smooth top, and began to write:
Mr. Donahue,
I know what you did. I know about the disaster relief care packages and what you did to sabotage them. I heard your conversation about population control and I have it recorded. Check your email if you don’t believe me. I’m sending you the audio file now.
At this point, I’m sure the care packages have been sent, but I also know there may be time to stop all of them from being distributed.
I may not be as powerful as you are, but I will do everything I can to make sure something like this never happens again. You’d be amazed what the media can do with an anonymous tip, especially when there’s audio proof.
I didn’t sign my name. I’d absentmindedly given it to his wife—in front of his butler. He would know exactly who it was from.
My hands shook as I set the pen down and folded the paper in thirds. I let out a deep breath and handed it to the butler. “This isn’t for Caspian.” My eyes met his. “It’s for Kipton.”
His gaze narrowed as he tipped his head to the side to study me.
I swallowed. “Thank you for being discreet.” He could think whatever he wanted about why I was here, as long as that letter got put in the right hands.
My pulse pounded in my ears and my feet couldn’t move fast enough as I brushed past him, then down the stairs and back out the front door.
I had no idea who to contact in the media or how to make them listen to the ramblings of a seventeen-year-old girl. But I knew someone who did—my dad. He was an advocate for injustice and wasn’t afraid to shout about it. And as soon as he got home, I was telling him what I knew. With any luck, Kipton would never be in charge of another disaster relief program again.
