Page 64 of A Taste like Sin

marbles in his skull, devoid of their usual sparkle. Instead, they’re blank. Staring. Empty.

“Daddy?” I croak, inching closer.

“Juliana…” Diane rises from her vigil beside him and surreptitiously swipes at her bloodshot eyes

with the sleeve of her sweater. “You came.” The second I’m close enough, she throws her arms

around me. “He doesn’t respond much,” she whispers near my ear. “He doesn’t talk, but he may be

able to hear you. The doctors aren’t sure how long it may last… But it’s progress.” She smiles

tearfully as if trying to convince herself of that fact. Progress.

“Daddy?” I circle around to his bed.

One of his frail, pale hands is resting over his chest, perched atop the blankets. I grab it, but he

doesn’t even look in my direction. Heyworth Thorne is gone, replaced by a shell.

Or the worst kind of villain: a helpless one. It’s as if his goddamn soul is determined to withhold

answers from me. Or punish me.

“I know this isn’t the right moment,” Diane says, lifting something from the bedside table: a stack of

documents. “But just in case… You should be prepared. It’s his will,” she explains, holding the

documents out to me. “Thank God we finalized it before—” She breaks off, clearing her throat. “I

want you to look it over so that you aren’t surprised if the worst comes to fruition.”

“S-Surprised?” I scan the document, steeling myself for the worst scenarios my paranoia can dream

up. Plenty. Perhaps he cut me out. He never intended to leave me a dime, not that the money matters in

the grand scheme. If anything, a legal, binding document will prove that I was always his daughter

merely for show. But as I scan the first lines, I shake my head. “This can’t be right.”

“It is,” Diane insists, her eyes welling with tears. “We discussed it beforehand. It’s what he wanted.

But I think, all things considered, you should have access to some items now. I’ve already cleared it

with the lawyer. They’re highlighted there. A safety deposit box he had. I’m not sure what’s in it, but

you should have access to it.”

I blink, fighting to resist how my eyes are burning. “I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s something else.” Diane grabs my arm.

For the first time, I sense how her fingers are shaking. Her distress takes on a new connotation;

perhaps the tears aren’t solely related to my father’s condition.

“There might be tighter security when you come back. Family only. The police have opened an

investigation. After the doctors ran more tests, they think the stroke may have been exacerbated by