The Inheritances Game (Jameson Hawthorne)

Xander And Glitter Metaphors

What did we learn? I tried to concentrate on that, not the threat, not the timer counting down. Toby's captor had referred to himself as old. He'd called me by my full name. He played with words—and with people. 

"He likes riddles," I said out loud. "And games." I knew someone who fit that description, but billionaire Tobias Hawthorne was dead. He'd been dead for a year.

"What precisely are we supposed to figure out?" Grayson asked crisply. I looked reflexively toward Jameson. 

"There must be something to find or decode," I said, "just like there was in the earlier deliveries."

"The next part of the same riddle," Jameson murmured, our minds in sync. 

Eve looked between the two of us. "What riddle?"

"The riddle," Jameson said. "Who is he? Why is he doing this? The first two clues were straightforward enough to decode. He's upped his ante with this installment."

"We must be missing something," I said. "A detail about the box or the package or—"

"I recorded the phone call." Xander held up his phone. "In case there's a clue in something he said. Beyond that..."

"We have the combination," Jameson finished. "And the calendar entry."

"Niv," Catalina said, it's the first words she had spoken since the call. 

Moving on instinct, I checked the box for hidden compartments. There weren't any. There was nothing else on the phone, nothing that popped out when we listened to my exchange with Toby's captor a second time. Or a third. "Can your team trace the call?" I asked Oren, trying to think ahead, trying to come at this problem from all sides. "We have the number."

"I can try," Oren replied evenly, "but unless our opponent is far less intelligent than he appears, the number is unregistered, and the call was routed through the internet, not a phone tower, with the signal split across a thousand IP addresses, bouncing all over the world." 

My throat tightened. "Could the police help pin it down?"

"We can't call the police," Eve whispered. "He could kill Toby."

"Discreet inquiries could potentially be made to a trusted police contact without providing details," Oren said. "Unfortunately, my three most trusted contacts have been recently transferred." There was no way that was a coincidence. Attacks on my business interests. Attempts to chip away at my security team. Paparazzi set on my every move. Police contacts transferred. I thought about what Alisa had said we were looking for. Wealth. Power. Connections.

"Play the recording again," I told Xander. My BHFF did as I asked, and this time, as the conversation ended, 

Jameson looked to Grayson. "He said that Avery could call him Luke. Not that his name was Luke."

"Does that matter?" I asked.

Grayson held Jameson's gaze. "It could."

Eve started to say something, but the sound of a ringing phone silenced her. It wasn't the burner phone. It was mine. My eyes darted to the caller ID. Thea. I answered. "I'm kind of busy right now, Thea."

"In that case, do you want the bad news first or the really bad news?"

"Is Rebecca—"

"Someone got a picture of Eve standing outside the gates of Hawthorne House. It just went live." I winced. "Was that the bad news or—"

"It went live," Thea continued, "on the internet's biggest gossip site, alongside a picture of Emily and an exposé on rumors that Emily Laughlin was killed by Grayson and Jameson Hawthorne."

Catalina's Pov

I grabbed Jameson's hand immediately, "It's not true." I whisper in his ear, I could hear his breath stop for a second.

"This is bullshit," Nash bit out. He took a breath, then turned discerning eyes on his brothers. "Jamie? Gray?" 

"I'm fine." Grayson's face was like stone. 

"And in keeping with my general superiority in our sibling relationship," Jameson added with a sardonic smile that was just a little too sharp, "I am better than fine." This was 'Luke's' doing. It had to be. Eve pulled the gossip site up on her phone. She stared at it. Her own picture. Emily's.

"Why does it say you killed her?" Eve asked, her voice reedy. She didn't look up from her phone, but I knew who she was addressing that question to. 

"Because" Grayson replied, his voice blade-edged, "we did." 

"Like hell you did," Nash swore. He looked around at the rest of us. "What's the rule about fightin' dirty?" he asked. No one answered. "Gray? Jamie?" He swiveled his gaze tome. 

"There's no such thing as fighting dirty," Avery said lowly, "if you win."

"Fighting dirty?" Eve asked, finally looking up from the website. "Is that what you call this? My face is going to be everywhere." This was exactly what Toby hadn't wanted. 

"Glitter cannon," Xander said. I shot him a look. This really wasn't the time for levity—or sparkles. "This right here is a glitter cannon," Xander reiterated. "Detonate one in the middle of a game, and it makes a huge mess. The kind that gets everywhere, sticks to everything." Grayson's expression hardened. "And runs down the clock while you clean it up." 

"While you try to clean it up," Libby said gently. 

"Some things don't clean easy," Nash agreed in a slow, steady drawl, his eyes finding Libby's like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You'll think you've finally got it all. Everything's fine. And then five years later..." 

"There's still glitter in Grayson's bathroom," Xander finished. 

"Luke did this," Avery said. "He set this up. He detonated the blast. He wants us distracted." He wants to run down the clock. He wants us to lose. Tick tock. 

Eve turned her phone off and tossed it roughly onto the desk. "Screw the glitter," she said. "I don't want to figure out what happens to Toby if that timer hits zero." None of us did. Xander played the conversation with Luke back again, and we got to work.