Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
My heart sank as I realized what Emmett was saying. “You think my father killed Forrest’s father or had him killed?” I asked.
“Theoretically, it could have been anybody. But it’s established knowledge that your father took the Vitellius from Alan Buckley.”
I glanced at Forrest. This time, it was he who squeezed my fingers.
“My guess is he thought it would be easy,” Emmett said. “He thought the number on the bottom was the account number, and having the statue was as good as having the money. Then, when it turned out not to be that simple, I think he went after your dad. And either your dad wasn’t willing to give him what he wanted, or more likely, Prentice or whoever he sent lost patience. I can’t prove any of this in court. I can dig for more, but…” He paused, maybe waiting for a response from Forrest.
Forrest just looked poleaxed.
Lucas stood, looming over us. “You should talk to your mother,” he said. “If what she remembers lines up with what Emmett’s found, we can always push this. I’ll talk to Cooper.”
Forrest nodded. “I guess we’re going to Oregon,” he said, his hazel eyes shifting to me.
“I guess we’re going to Oregon,” I agreed.
Chapter Thirty
FORREST
“I’ve got you set up,” Alice said, handing me a stack of printed paper. I glanced down to see the name of an airline and flight numbers. “Two tickets to Eugene and a rental car waiting on the other end. You have just enough time to get to the airport.”
“Alice,” Sterling said with a laugh, “you’re amazing.”
“I know,” she agreed. “You have bigger fish to fry right now and can’t hang around, but you have to promise to come back once all this is settled. Quinn told Lucas’s wife, Charlie, all about you, and she’s been dying to meet you. Now that Lucas met you first,” Alice’s eyebrow raised, and the side of her mouth quirked, “Charlie won’t be patient. Anyway, I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”
I didn’t know what Alice Sinclair meant by that, but it looked like Sterling did. “Thank you, Alice,” I said, reaching out to shake her hand. “I’m assuming you’ll send me the bill.”
She winked. “It’ll be in the mail.”
“Thanks, really.”
“Any time. You guys are as good as family, and I can’t wait to see how this turns out.” Alice waved us off as we got in the elevator to begin the next step of our journey.
Another time, I would have been drawn in by her engaging smile, ready to laugh along with her. But at that moment, I was dazed, too much coming at me at once. I didn’t even know where to start. I’d already been unsettled to learn that Sterling knew how to write a computer program—not just one program, but multiple programs good enough to crack a basic cipher.
I knew from the way Griffen and Hawk talked about him that Lucas Jackson was the next thing to a computer genius, and he’d thought Sterling’s program was good. That meant she knew what she was doing. Why hadn’t she told me? I thought I’d earned back her trust, at least a little, but now that seemed like a distant possibility. Sterling had a whole life she was keeping from me. Maybe I was just a means to an end. I didn’t know anymore.
I’d barely absorbed that new information when I’d had to talk to my mother, had to confess that I was still chasing my father’s legacy. I’d hated hearing the pain and disappointment in her voice.
She’d sighed. “Of course, I have your things. Just don’t ask me to help you with this.”
My heart was a lead weight in my chest. I was a terrible son to shove this in her face again. Losing my father had shattered her. She’d poured all her love into me, unwilling to risk her heart on another partner. When her second husband, Jerry, had snuck under her guard with his shy humor and gentle teases, she’d let go of some of her grief. She loved Jerry. I loved him for giving my mom back a part of herself she’d lost when my father died.
The mention of Alan Buckley, even though he was seventeen years gone, always dragged her into the past. The depth of her pain, even across the phone, reminded me that this was no game. If the Learys and our stint in the root cellar weren’t enough to tell me that, hearing my mother’s voice go flat was a sobering reminder.
And then to find out that my father might not have killed himself, that he could have been murdered?
I couldn’t keep my head straight.
Sterling tucked the flight information in her purse and linked her arm through mine as we left the elevator and made our way back to the car. Moving on instinct, I opened her door, waited for her to get settled, closed it, got in the car, and programmed the map to bring us to the airport.