Page 27 of The Ruling Class (The Fixer #1)

Partnering with Henry Marquette on a project devoted to choosing a replacement for his grandfather, while harboring suspicions that his grandfather had been murdered so that he could be replaced , was not what one would call a highlight of my day.

I was pretty sure it wasn’t the highlight of Henry’s day, either.

“So we’re in agreement,” he said, his voice crisp. “I’ll take the top half of the list. You take the bottom.”

Your grandfather’s death was planned. I said that silently, because I couldn’t say it out loud. There were at least two people involved. Maybe three. My mind went to the other number on the phone—the one that had already been disconnected.

“I know you and Asher are up to something.” Henry’s words snapped me back to the moment. “Emilia, too, God help us all.”

He said Emilia’s name the way one might reference a force of nature—a tsunami, perhaps, or a hurricane.

“I don’t know what you’re doing.” Henry gave me a look. “I’m fairly certain that I don’t want to know.”

He really, really didn’t.

“If this is the part where you warn me away from your friends,” I told him, putting on my best poker face, “why don’t we just skip straight to you making veiled comments about my sister, and me telling you that I’m not her.”

Henry stared at me, a detached observer taking mental notes on my features for later reference. I had no idea what was going on inside his head.

“Actually,” he said finally, “this is the part where I tell you that you don’t want to be anything like your sister.” The bell rang as he gathered his books. “Take it from someone who knows.”

Vivvie caught up to me outside of the classroom. “What did you say to Henry Marquette?” she asked, unable to keep the note of urgency from her tone. I pulled her into the girls’ restroom and checked the stalls. Empty.

“I didn’t say anything. Not about your father, not about what we found.”

It took Vivvie a moment to absorb that information. “Sorry. I just … you two were working together … and …”

“Breathe, Vivvie.”

She leaned back against the bathroom door. “Maybe you misunderstood,” she said quietly. “Whatever you heard the person on the phone say, maybe you misunderstood. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe none of this is what it looks like.”

She sounded so hopeful, so desperately hopeful that my body ached with the force of that hope. I knew what it was like to want so badly to be able to believe something into being true.

He’s not sick. He’s just confused . How often had I told myself that, back in Montana? I knew what it was like to teeter on the edge of the truth, to squeeze your eyes closed with everything you had and hope that when you opened them, things would look different.

I also knew that they never did.

“We have to tell someone,” I said softly. “You know we do, Vivvie.”

“Who?” Vivvie shot back, her hair spilling down her chest. “Your sister? This time last week, you didn’t even know what she did for a living.” Vivvie’s lips trembled. “Clearly the two of you are close .”

Ouch.

Vivvie pressed her hand to her mouth, hard.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered through her fingers.

“I didn’t mean that. I’m the one who asked you for help.

I asked you to do this. I’m not allowed to hate you for it.

” Her arms encircled her waist, her head bowed.

“I know I can’t ask you to keep this a secret.

” Dark brown eyes met mine. “I know that, Tess.”

But she was. Asking.

“If we knew,” Vivvie said quietly, “if we were sure , if we could figure out who he was talking to … it would be different.”

It was never going to be different. Her dad was always going to be her dad. Based on what she’d said the day before, he was the only parent she had.

“Would you recognize the voice?” Vivvie asked me. “If you heard it again, would you recognize it?”

I thought of the list Dr. Clark had handed out. Potential Supreme Court nominees.

“I might.”