Page 104 of Good Girls Lie

I take his proffered hand graciously. “I’m pleased to meet any friend of my father’s. I go by Ash now.”

“Yes, the dean here told me so. I’m sorry Charlie couldn’t come himself, he’s tied up, I’m afraid. Well, Ash. Let’s sit. I have some news.”

Charlie: Charles Worthington, my father’s solicitor. The one who explained to me how things would work after they passed. How the inquest would have to be settled before the estate could be bequeathed.

I can’t fathom what this might be, am working hard to modulate my breathing so it’s not too obvious I’m in a panic. I take the seat and accept a cup of tea. I would really prefer a cup of espresso, topped with a shot of vodka, spiked with a little “something-something” as Becca says, but I can hardly complain. At least the cup gives me something to do with my hands.

“You’ve come from Oxford?” I ask, after taking a dutiful sip.

“London, actually. We’ve had a rough go of it this autumn, I’m afraid. Snow, already.”

“Ah. London. Snow, this early. How unusual. What’s happening with the estate?”

Yes, what the ever-loving fuck happened with the estate? I thought it was being settled before I left.

“Well, of course, nothing has changed for you. Don’t you worry, you’re still completely taken care of. As you and your father agreed, you’ll come into your inheritance on your twenty-fifth birthday, assuming all the stipulations are met.”

“The stipulations? Whatever do you mean?”

“Oh, my. How embarrassing. I thought you knew. You have to have a college degree by your big twenty-fifth.”

There it is, the crux of the matter. It’s so shallow, so gauche, this desperate need for money. And the stipulations. I mean, it’s not exactly a hardship, going to school. At least it wasn’t until Grassley died. And I became a Swallow. And my roommate did a swan dive off the bell tower. And the dean started confiding in me.

“Right. That. Yes, I know about the degree stipulation. That’s why I’m here, after all. Getting myself lined up to go to college.” I shoot a glance at Westhaven, who is smiling at us absently. We pause, wait for her to chime in. This is a play, remember. Everything is timed to perfection; the way parts of the stage move in circles as the rest of the floor stays put. We maneuver around the truth, all of us do. Truth and lies, the moving circle and the sturdy planks, the very ground beneath our feet always unsteady.

It’s the dean’s turn for her soliloquy, and she delivers it masterfully. I couldn’t have scripted this better.

“Ash has a very bright academic future. I’m sure there won’t be any issue with her getting into the school of her choice. If I recall, you’re interested in Harvard, isn’t that right, dear? At Goode,” she explains to Nickerson with maternal pride, “our girls get early acceptance to their school of choice. It won’t be long before Ash gets to make her applications, and we’ll have her set up nicely in no time. We could even go for an extra-early acceptance so she’s in line next year instead of waiting until she’s a senior if that helps with the estate? I’d be happy to make a few calls.”

Nickerson lights up. “Ah, jolly good, jolly good. I’m sure that would be quite helpful to streamline everything. But I’m here with some other news, I’m afraid. Of a private nature. Normally, Ash, I’d ask to speak to you alone, but since you’re a minor and his sole heir, my bosses asked me to have a witness signature on the papers, so I’ve asked the dean to stand in. Will that be all right?”

What the hell is this about?

“I have no secrets from Dean Westhaven.”On my honor.When lightning doesn’t strike immediately, I breathe a bit easier.

“Wonderful. Brilliant. Well, Ash, it seems your father had a codicil made a few months before he passed. Almost as if he... Well, never mind that. The codicil modifies his will. Now, don’t you worry, there are plenty of assets to go round, but it seems he’s left a good portion of his fortune to another... Ash, there’s no good way to put this. You have a sister.”

61

THE DECEPTION

The pain is so intense it numbs me. I can barely get out the word. Foreign. Wrong.

“Sister?”

“Yes. She’s a few years older than you, and can you believe it, she’s actually in Oxford. Or she was in Oxford. She decamped from the city a few months ago. We have her last knowns, but haven’t been able to locate her. Your father both acknowledged her and added her to the will.”

“A sister,” I repeat. I am officially overwhelmed now. “Added to the will.”

“Yes. I thought in light of your, well, you’ve been an only child since your brother’s death, and having lost your parents... I thought you might be pleased to know you aren’t quite so alone in the world. Even if she gets half the estate.”

I nearly drop my teacup.

“Half?”

“Oh, yes. Half. I don’t know all the details about how or why or when or who, but we’re looking for her now. Because of the sensitive nature of this, we wanted to let you know right away. It’s not above the press to get wind of these situations and we wanted to avoid a scandal or any impropriety. And we want to make sure there aren’t any impostors, either. My firm has been asked to verify the identity of your sister, when we find her, by a DNA match with you.”

“DNA.”