Page 115 of The Brothers Hawthorne

She was the only person who’d ever successfully broken into the Devil’s Mercy, and she’d talked her way into membership thereafter. Jameson had known from their second meeting: The duchess was a woman whosawthings, one who played the long game.

She chose her competition.Jameson looked at Zella, really looked at her. “Have you read my secret?”

“I’m about to,” she replied. “Out loud. If you want to spare your heiress from hearing it, you’ll tell her to give me the last key. Otherwise, any danger that comes from this little bit of forbidden knowledge… well, I can only assume you’d like to protect Avery here from that.”

Jameson looked to Avery. He saw nothing in the roombutAvery. “Give the key to Zella,” he said softly.

There were some things he wouldn’t risk, not even to win.

“You have three seconds,” Zella warned. She began unfolding the parchment. “Three…”

“Do it,” Jameson commanded. “The Game—it doesn’t even matter anymore.”Lie.

“Two…”

“Just do it, Heiress.”

Avery mouthed two words:I can’t.And the next thing Jameson knew, she’d leapt toward Zella, her hand latching around the parchment. Zella fought. Jameson watched as his Heiress took the duchess to the ground.

“Enough!” Rohan’s voice boomed through the air.

Zella froze, but Avery didn’t. She pulled herself to her feet, the parchment in her hand, and held it to the flame of the closest candle.

“I saidenough!” The Factotum told her.

Avery didn’t back down. She never backed down. And by the time Rohan had made it to her, the parchment was ashes. Jameson’s secret was ashes.You didn’t look at it, Heiress. You didn’t read it. You could have, but you didn’t.

Zella stood, grace incarnate, and smiled. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” she told Rohan, “but wasn’t there a rule about violence of any kind leading to immediate expulsion from the Game?” Her eyes lit on the key still in Avery’s possession. “And wouldn’t expulsion from the Game mean that any key held by that player is surrendered?”

There was a flash of something in Rohan’s eyes—not anger, not exactly—but a moment later, it was gone. He turned toward Avery with the rogue’s smile firmly in place. “Indeed,” he said in reply to Zella’s question, “it would.”

CHAPTER 78

GRAYSON

Decoding Sheffield Grayson’s journal took all night. The longer Grayson worked, the faster he went, transcribing the translation in his own notebook—leather, just like his father’s. Grayson ignored the similarity. He ignored everything but the shifting code and the words it gave him.

In the beginning, Sheffield Grayson appeared to have used this journal as an off-the-books ledger, recording where the money he embezzled from his company went. There were no account numbers, but with the dates and the locations of the accounts, there was a trail to follow.

The kind the FBI would definitely be capable of following.

But as Grayson got further and further through his translation and the dates at the top of the entries showed months and years passing, the tone and content of Sheffield Grayson’s writing changed. The journal entries went from focusing almost entirely on documenting illegal transactions to something more…confessional.

That was the word that Grayson kept coming back to as he decoded and transcribed what his father had written—except that wasn’t quite right. The wordconfessionimplied something like guilt or the need to unburden oneself. Sheffield Grayson hadn’t been burdened.

He’d been angry.

Cora’s funeral was today. It should have been a time of mourning. I should have been Acacia’s rock. Without her mother there to interfere, to hold her threats over my head, it should have been the two of us, husband and wife, against the world. Not so. Trowbridge made sure of that. He got Acacia alone at the wake. He told my wife things he had no business knowing, let alone saying.

She had so many questions.

Grayson didn’t let himself pause in decoding, didn’t linger on any one entry, no matter what it said. But even as he kept his focus on turning numbers to letters and letters to words, on finding the exact location on each page in which meaningful content was embedded, his brain still processed every word he wrote.

The overall picture was becoming clearer and clearer in his mind.

Cora left everything to Acacia and the girls. No surprise there. It’s all tied up in trusts. No surprise there, either. Acacia is her own trustee, thank God, but Cora named Trowbridge trustee for the girls. The bastard is already asking to see financial records. I’ll force a sale of the company before I let that pathetic excuse for a man question me.

The next few pages detailed the sale of the company and Sheffield Grayson’s efforts to ensure the buyer took the financial records they were given at face value. But after that, the tenor of his words shifted again.