Page 50 of Old Money

T heo’s office doesn’t look like a lawyer’s.

It looks like the home of a nineteenth-century ship captain, which is what it used to be.

The building was rezoned more than sixty years ago, but none of the occupying businesses have had the funds to remodel.

Thus, the old canning pantry serves as a copy room, and the communal fridge stands inside a six-foot-tall fireplace in the parlor.

Theo works on the second floor, in a dressing room once belonging to the lady of the house. He stores his files in her old armoire.

“Who goes there?” Theo calls as I approach, my footsteps creaking loudly in the empty upstairs hall.

He’s hunched at his computer, and his desk is a swamp of paperwork: thick bound documents, legal pads and sticky notes everywhere, their corners fluttering lightly in the breeze from the window fan.

The lights are off, the room lit only by the glow coming off Theo’s monitor.

He leans in close, eyes flicking back and forth as he scrolls through lines of text.

“What’s with the darkness?”

Theo startles back in his seat.

“Alice?” He squints. “What is it? Did something happen?”

“Nice to see you too. Can I come in?”

Theo shakes his head, apologetic. He waves me in, gesturing to the visitor’s chair.

“Sorry,” he says, reaching to switch on the desk lamp. “They issued a brownout warning.”

“Ah.” I nod, understanding. “’Tis the season.”

Growing up, rolling brownouts were a frequent occurrence, especially during this stagnant stage of summer.

If the forecast looked particularly hot, the power company would issue a warning, telling residents to be prepared for reduced power throughout the day.

Mom always said it was better than having a blackout, but I disagreed.

A blackout meant candles and board games, but brownouts were eerie—the lights suddenly going dim and buzzy, the blades of the ceiling fan circling slowly. Everything worked, but not quite.

Theo peers at his watch, frowning.

“Man, I didn’t realize it got so late. I’m just trying to catch up on my day job.”

“Jules told me.” I lift the paper bag in my hand. “She made tomato sandwiches.”

Theo takes the bag, waiting for me to explain.

“I need your help, Theo.”

He nods, his face calm and serious. “I’m listening.”

“It’s about Patrick. I— Okay, you know that podcast?” I press on, too nervous to pause for his answer. “I emailed them this afternoon and told them, you know, who I am.”

It was only two hours ago, actually. They haven’t even replied yet.

The fight with Jamie had shaken me out of my funk, and I’d rushed back to the Alcott on a surge of adrenaline.

I found a general contact form on The Club Kid ’s website, then dug around for direct addresses for two of the show’s producers.

I sent a simple message saying I was a relative of Caitlin’s and I had new evidence I’d like to discuss with them.

It was so easy—how had it ever seemed complicated?

“So, I’m going to be speaking with them—soon. Probably Monday?” I continue haltingly. This part isn’t so easy. “And then I’m going to village PD. To request a formal inquiry.”

Theo’s face registers nothing.

“You mean, you’re requesting a case review,” he replies in a level tone.

“Yes, but—” I clear my throat. “Yes, but ultimately, I’m seeking a formal reinvestigation. Specifically, into Patrick’s involvement.”

Theo sits forward, shaking his head, patience dwindling.

“Alice, they don’t just do that because someone asks. They can’t. They need new witness statements, DNA, some form of—”

“Compelling evidence,” I finish. “I know. I have that.”

Theo turns his ear toward me, as though he truly can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“I really do. Mr. Brody saw Patrick too. He saw a lot actually, and I have it on tape—”

I hold up my hands, bracing for Theo’s backlash, but he doesn’t even raise an eyebrow.

“But Theo, here’s the big thing: he saw Patrick walking to the pool too.”

Theo’s rakes his fingers back along his scalp, tugging his hair in a fist. His gaze shifts into a distant stare, and I wait.

I know this part still eats at him. When he stepped forward to speak up, he expected—as any fifteen-year-old should—that the adults would listen.

Hell, he probably expected praise (that’s what adults usually gave him).

Instead, they’d all gone silent. He’d never say so, but I think, for him, that was the biggest shock.

“Mr. Brody saw Patrick from the terrace,” I add quietly. “He saw him go into the trees—those evergreens by the pool fence? That’s how Patrick snuck in.”

I wait for a shift in Theo’s expression—some sign that it’s sunk in.

There’s a third witness. It’s not just us anymore.

“No shit,” Theo whispers. “Of all people.”

I nod.

“It lines up perfectly with what you saw. Except you had an even better vantage point. You said you were out behind the clubhouse somewhere?”

“I think I said top of the path, yeah.”

“Right!” I scoot forward in my chair. “Brody could only see Patrick from behind, but you’d have seen him in profile.”

Theo just keeps nodding, wide-eyed.

“So.” I pause. Here goes. “I need you to tell them that—again, I mean. So it goes on the record.”

Theo’s eyes refocus. He looks at me, exhausted.

“Alice, I have to tell you something.”

My back goes straight and goose bumped.

Theo rests his elbows on the desk, scrubbing his palms against his face.

“I didn’t see him,” he says. “I didn’t see him walking to the pool.”

He pauses, searching my face for understanding. But I don’t understand.

“I saw him leave the party.” he continues. “When he left the ballroom—that was hard to miss. He had that look on his face. But—yeah. That’s it.”

For a minute, I just sit. I hear the whir of the fan. I smell the ancient wood varnish. I feel the hard edge of my chair digging into the back of my thighs.

“You mean—you saw someone else then?” I ask, my voice loud and hollow. “Like you thought it was him and didn’t realize until after?”

Theo shakes his head.

“It wasn’t a mistake. I lied to them.” He swallows. “To you too. I’m sorry.”

My brain is still trying to fix it—to reorder the facts in a way that will disprove Theo’s admission, simple as it is.

“Why would you do that?”

“Why?” He almost laughs. “Because I could see what they were doing. It was obvious, the second the cops came. Everyone was already saying she drowned! Meanwhile, you’re sitting there with bloodstains all over you.”

A whiff of that earthy, iron stench wafts up from my memory.

“You were this little kid, and they were treating you like—” Theo shakes his head, disgusted, lost in his own memory.

“I still think about it—those assholes trying to railroad you. ‘Oh, she probably passed out, doesn’t know what she saw.’ And everyone just let it happen!

Nobody even stops to say, ‘Hey, she’s shivering.

Can we get her some dry clothes?’ ‘Hey, maybe have this conversation elsewhere, you fuckin’ amateurs? ’ ”

Nausea churns my stomach. Theo continues.

“I kept thinking, ‘They must have him already. That’s why they’re taking their time. They already have the guy.’ ” Theo does an exaggerated shrug. “Nope!”

My thoughts move in slow motion, jammed in the tangle of old memories and new information.

“I’m trying to remember,” I say. “I must have been so out of it.”

“No,” Theo says sharply. “You were not out of it. I wasn’t, and neither were you. Got it?”

He reaches over the desk, waiting for me to look up.

“You were so brave, Alice, I couldn’t believe it. You’d been through this nightmare ordeal, and you managed to report it immediately. You sat there and talked it through. Do you know how rare that is?”

I hate this. I hate the way he’s soothing me with praise—shifting the focus from his lie to my bravery. And I hate how good it feels to hear it.

“So, the cops were taking statements,” I say slowly. “And you approached them, and—just came up with that? On the spot?”

Theo sits up, his hand dragging back across the desk.

“Basically.” He shrugs. “I wish I had thought it through more. It came out so fast that afterward, I couldn’t remember exactly what I said. I remember sitting in the car, trying to replay it in my head. I was so damn scared. And then for months, every time the phone rang...”

He sucks air in between his teeth, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm.

“Jesus, I was terrified.”

A dense breeze murmurs through the window, filling the quiet room with the smell of hot pavement and fertilizer.

“I can’t believe you never told me.”

Theo looks up, his face apologetic, bordering on anguished.

“I always thought I would.” His voice crackles. “I just—didn’t. I’m sorry, Alice. It’s inexcusable.”

I stand, my skin unsticking from the seat with a sting I notice but don’t quite feel.

“Well, I’ve got Mr. Brody’s thing. So that’s, um. That’s good.”

“You’re still going to do this, Alice? You’re sure?”

I shrug.

“Wouldn’t you?”

Theo drops his head, smiling sadly into his lap.

I turn for the door with conscious effort, keeping a hand on my chair. My reflexes feel dull and glitchy—my whole body in a brownout.

“Let’s talk when you’re ready, okay?” Theo calls after me. “Maybe family dinner?”

I think of Gordon Fairchild—his ominous reminder: You do have things to lose, Alice.

Not much family is better than none . As if I didn’t know already.

I knew just how many ways there were to suddenly, brutally lose someone.

But now I see how it can happen slowly—how ties aren’t always cut, but sometimes simply start to fray.

“Yeah,” I answer Theo without turning around. “Sounds good.”

I’m not sure yet which is worse: losing someone, or knowing you’re about to.