I try several different number combinations of what I think it might be, starting with birth dates and anniversaries. Not even my birthday or his is correct.
Think, Landry.
What was he obsessed with?
Besides me, it was my sister. But only because he blamed her for my mother’s death. It wasn’t Della’s fault, though. Mom was already sick and dying. The pregnancy just took the last of what was left of her.
I try to block out the day Mom died. It was such a soul-crushing time for me. Not only did I lose my mother and have a newborn baby to help care for, but Dad went apeshit for a while after. Everything was so dark and horrible.
With a shaking hand, I push in the numbers of her death date. The safe lights up green. No way. Anger swells up inside me. Why would her death date be his code?
Because if what he said was true, then he’s responsible.
I open the safe and stare at the contents. Some stacks of cash, a gun, a few files with paperwork inside. There’s even a picture of Mom holding Della with me curled up against her. She’s ill and dying in the picture, but her frail arms hold on to both of us like she has the strength to protect us forever.
Plucking the picture from the safe, I set it on the desk behind me to keep. Della will be happy to see it since it’s not one Dad ever framed or put up in the house. There are no pictures of Mom and Della together that I’ve seen.
Why hide it?
Because Della isn’t Dad’s. That has to be why. He mentioned it before, but I didn’t want to believe it. I pull out some files and sit on the floor so I can dig through them. In one of the files, I find Mom’s death certificate. The official reason for death is heart attack. Behind the death certificate is an autopsy report. Dr. Dean Miller performed the autopsy. There were statements of bodily trauma. Some of the bruises went back weeks prior to her death. The alarming part was the toxicology report behind it that showed excessive amounts of arsenic in her system.
She was poisoned?
My stomach revolts violently and I gag. Tears well in my eyes, blurring the words in front of me. Sparrow sits down behind me, spreading his legs and pulling me between them. With the papers clutched in my grasp, I sob as he holds me.
This whole time I believed she died of a heart attack. He blamed Della for killing her. But it was him. He poisoned her because she got pregnant with another man’s baby.
In the same file, I discover a newspaper article that Dr. Dean Miller was tragically killed in a fire that destroyed his office and all the bodies in it, including my mother’s. Since the autopsy report was in Dad’s safe, that leads me to believe he took it from Dr. Miller and then torched the place.
It’s the file under Mom’s death file that makes my blood run cold.
Della.
Paternity tests, emails, and other correspondence that relates to my sister.
Oh, God.
This whole thing is starting to make a lot more sense. Fucked up, but clear as day. Dad wasn’t trying to marry me off or partner up with his company, he was pulling strings and blackmailing people. I was just a tool to be used.
This ends today.
“We have to go,” I tell Sparrow. “Now.”
* * *
Getting Sparrow to let me go alone took monumental effort. I’ve never seen him so pissed, but I wouldn’t budge. If he went with me, it would only distract from the real topic at hand. Because of his involvement and past, I wouldn’t get anywhere.
And I absolutely need to make sure I get somewhere on this.
“I love you,” I remind Sparrow, kissing his mouth. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Trust me.”
He runs his fingers through my hair. “I trust you. It’s him I don’t trust.”
“I’m going to be okay.”
With those words, I exit Sparrow’s fancy car and march into one of the most intimidating buildings I’ve been in. They spared no expense when constructing this place. It’s all glass and modern lines, decorated with the finest furniture made.
I make my way inside the elevator and mash the button to the executive floor. Several men dressed in suits side-eye me as they join me. I’m dressed in a black pair of leggings, some plain flats, and one of Scout’s black hoodies. Since I didn’t want to mess with my hair, I grabbed one of Sully’s ball caps and covered my hair up.
I don’t look like I belong here.
But, if I had to guess, I have more money than all these men combined. Screw them and their condescending looks. I don’t breathe easier until the last one is deposited the floor before mine. When I enter the executive floor of Halcyon, I’m alone.