Page 14 of This Bitter Sweet Temptation
Cleo scrubs at her cheeks, all her arrogance gone. “Do you have the letter? Can I see it?”
Nodding, Wilkes smiles and reaches into her pocket and retrieves a small cream envelope. “Please take your time, Miss Blackthorn. Cleo.”
She gives back a tiny, nervous smile as she accepts the letter.
Without another glance, she exits the room, clutching the letter against her chest.
“Oh myGod, this is amazing,” Kit says, breaking the silence as I stare numbly at the drawer. “I can’t believe you have the missing Hera Egghere. Dad, why didn’t you ever tell me your boss was this cool?”
Of course, she knows what this thing is all about, adorable little book nerd she is.
“Go ahead, Kit. Enlighten me.”
“It’s been missing for over a hundred years. They think it was stolen or destroyed, but nothing was ever proven. It’s had a ton of forgeries pop up over the years, too. They always turned out to be fake.”
“How do you absorb all this information?” I ask, ruffling her hair. “Where does it all go?”
“It sticks to my brain, Dad. Only when it interests me. You remember that Anastasia kick I was on a couple years ago?”
How could I forget? She only picked it for every movie night for three solid months. I had Bartok the bat’s lines damn near memorized.
She looks up at me, her little eyes sparkling like they do when she talks about books.
“I can’t believe I got to see it inreal life. This is bonkers.”
“Save it,” I say. “You weren’t even supposed to be here today. If Mom didn’t have an appointment and it wasn’t such short notice, I would’ve dropped you off.” I look at the lawyer. “You just needed me for due diligence, Miss Wilkes? A little extra security for the vault?”
The lawyer looks down.
“Not exactly.” She hands me another letter. “This should suffice to explain everything.”
Shit.
Even though I knew this was coming, I want to set it on fire.
Whatever’s in there can’t be good.
Leonidas Blackthorn doesn’t have a great track record with letters from beyond the grave. Just ask the rest of the family.
The paper feels weirdly heavy as I pinch it. The old man never did half measures. From the feel alone, it’s too thick to be a simple termination letter.
Unless it has cash in it, too.
But that’s not his style.
He’d be more likely to set up a bank transfer. Or a trust, if I were one of his kids or nieces or whatever the hell Cleo was to him. And even if he was that generous, I’m far too old for that. If he left me any bonuses, they’d be direct payments.
“The terms are rather clear, I think,” Wilkes says calmly. “Of course, if you have any questions, I’d be more than happy to answer. Just let me know.”
Terms.
This vault suddenly feels as claustrophobic as a submarine.
So this isn’t severance pay, and the fact that she’s handing out these letters doesn’t fill me with optimism.
I huff out a long breath.
There’s always been a draft in this basement, especially this room, making it easier to detect body heat. Never bothered me when I worked here alone, keeping up with the security, but it sure as hell does now.
