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I CROSS MY ARMS, EVALUATING THE NIGHTMARISH OPTIONS. W ORK WITH my father or race against whomever he decides to give the combination to?

My sister speaks first. “No,” she says firmly. “We don’t want to work with you.”

I glance to Abigail. If she were working with Dash, she’d try to convince me to align with him now. The hate in her voice is real, though. She isn’t turning on me. It’s some relief in this disaster.

If rejection from his daughters hurts Dash, he doesn’t show it. He leans back on his desk, looming large in his teenage bedroom. “That’s fine,” he says. “I’ve already spoken to Mia. She’s waiting for the combination as we speak.”

Mia? I knew my father doesn’t care for me, but he’d choose Mia over me?

Of course he would. She has what he wants. I don’t. That’s all Dash’s relationships come down to.

“Well, great,” I reply flippantly. “Don’t know what you’re waiting for.” It’s risky to try to call my father’s bluff, but what choice do I have?

My father rolls his eyes, looking uncannily like me. “Olivia, honey, I’d double-cross my niece in a heartbeat for my daughter. My daughters,” he amends, nodding to Abigail.

I try not to let the words warm me. I will my heart to remain ice. I’d rather feel it crack than thaw.

It’s Jackson who reacts the way I wish I could. “Touching,” he says, his voice heavy with scorn. “What is it you want from us in exchange for your silence?”

My father turns to Jackson, evaluating him as if he’s seeing a new side to him. This isn’t the polite boy I brought to our fraught family dinners. This is… I don’t know.

Jackson stares down my father, unflinching and businesslike.

“I want the cuff links Mia stole from me,” my father replies.

“She told me she’d give them back to me if she gets into the vault, but…

Well, I love my nieces and nephews, of course .

” He lays a theatrical hand over his nonexistent heart.

“However, they are my siblings’ children.

I have some doubts about the likelihood of their heist’s success. ”

And he doesn’t doubt mine? Is this my father’s way of giving me a backhanded compliment? You’re better at crime than your unserious cousins, Olivia. You make me so proud.

I resist what the comparison does to me. Love and pride and acceptance from my father are only ever traps. I need to focus on logistics. I’m here for money and revenge, nothing more.

I know Mia is working for the Knives. They’ve been trying to get the combination to the vault since the start of this week.

There’s something inside Leonie’s vault that the club wants, but I don’t think it’s just her money.

Mia has her own schemes, and Dash shouldn’t underestimate her. I certainly won’t.

“You want the cuff links so you can get back into the Knives,” I say, working through the implications out loud. “Why? Why not just steal Leonie’s fortune?”

My father nods, like I’ve just asked the right question in this seminar that he’s holding us hostage in. “My family thinks I killed my father.” He makes the admission so casually, as if it doesn’t bother him at all. As if it doesn’t have an audience of four teenagers who hate him.

I don’t know how to read his expression or his tone. He’s so cavalier. Is the topic of his father’s murder beneath him because he knows it’s not true? Or is he just so indignant and deluded that he doesn’t care?

“The Knives is an elite and powerful group,” Dash goes on. “I’ve used the connections for business for years, of course. But I need the immunity that comes with membership, too. My family has long suspected me of having something to do with my father’s death, given I was with him—”

“And you refused his autopsy,” I interject.

The context seems only slightly to frustrate Dash. “Yes, that,” he confirms. “For years, I’ve had the cuff links to protect me. I recently lost them. I’d very much like them back.”

Deonte’s gaze is skepticism mixed with judgment. “You think a club will protect you from being arrested for murder?” he asks.

It’s clear Deonte thinks his question is ridiculous. Dash, however, does not. “I know it will,” he replies immediately. “The members of the club are the most powerful people in the world. If you’re a Knife, they will protect you.”

Deonte scowls. “That’s fucked up.”

Dash is unsurprisingly unmoved. “Yes, whatever. I didn’t kill my father, but if Leonie is convinced I did, I need protection.”

“Leonie let you back into Volenvell. She seems happy you’re here. Maybe you’re just becoming hyper-suspicious in your old age,” Abigail says.

Dash cuts her a vain glare. “Our estrangement had nothing to do with Andrew’s death. Don’t believe any of my mother’s affections. She suspects me. When I showed up after you called me, we all played into her plans exactly. Trust me.”

If their estrangement hadn’t been because Leonie believes he killed his father, what had it been about? What could possibly have poisoned their relationship other than that?

“If you didn’t kill Andrew, who did?” Jackson asks from the door.

Dash straightens, at last impatient. “How should I know?”

I study him. My father is a skilled liar, but I’ve had a lifetime of his lies. I know them. They raised me, shaped my every day, made me who I am. I… believe him right now. He doesn’t know what happened to Andrew Owens.

Still, a part of me can’t help wondering if I’m just convincing myself to believe him because I can’t accept the alternative. Is my father capable of murder? Am I so broken as to love him anyway?

And if not Dash, then who is the killer?

Abigail’s voice rescues me from my thoughts. “Andrew was a member of the Knives, wasn’t he?” she says. “The Knives couldn’t protect him from being murdered?”

Dash runs a hand through his hair, his debonair confidence fracturing under the pressure from my crew.

“They didn’t protect him,” he says, “because they were responsible.”

I hear my own sharp intake of breath.

“How do you know?” I dare to ask.

My father grimaces. “You don’t think I refused my father’s autopsy because I didn’t want the time or expense, do you?” I notice an unfamiliar emotion on Dash—discomfort. “The Knives ordered me to. I was a member then. I had to.”

Of course. Relief commingles with horror in me. I’m glad there’s a reason he refused the autopsy other than my own father committing murder. It’s more sharp, savage evidence of the Knives’ ruthless influence, though.

Worse, if they killed him for the combination, they were clearly unsuccessful. They still want something inside Leonie’s vault—and I’d wager they’re willing to kill for it again.

Dash continues, obviously wanting to usher the subject past. “The point,” he says, “is making sure I don’t go down for this, and at the same time giving you access to the vault.”

He’s right. I want whoever killed my grandfather to pay, but right now, we’re not here to solve a murder. We’re here for the vault.

I have to stop Dash from giving the combination to my direct competition. However, I can’t just accept whatever loophole-ridden deal my father is offering me. I need to negotiate.

I walk to Dash’s dresser as if I’m nonchalantly examining the posters on his wall. Maybe Abigail inherited his taste in music because I certainly didn’t.

“I guess you’re stuck with Mia, because we won’t help you,” I say, picking up a photo of him in a school uniform. I flit my gaze to him, waiting for his reaction.

His expression darkens. I prepare myself for what comes next. He’ll yell. He’ll tell me I’m a spoiled and silly little girl who doesn’t know how to handle myself. Maybe if he’s really pissed, he’ll say I’m just as useless as my mother. It’s what he always does when he’s not in control.

Instead, he does something much worse.

He shrugs. “You’ve made your choice,” he says. He checks his Patek Philippe. “How long do you think it will take her to put her plans into motion?”

I set the photo down with a clumsy rattle. He’s bluffing. He has to be.

Calmly, he takes out his phone. He types something, then stows his phone in his pocket once more.

Answering the question I didn’t voice, Dash continues. “I texted her the vault combination. You better hope Mia fails. If she doesn’t… I won’t need you at all.”