The Revelation of Light and Dark (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 1)

“Well,” she says thoughtfully and with a bit of criticism in her voice. “It seems to me you’re giving up a little too early. You could ask me for some of the money. I don’t have two hundred thousand, but I’ll give you what I can. You could apply for a loan for the remainder. Or you could renegotiate the amount down, get a silent investor, or even try to find a partner. You have a lot of options, Finley, so you can’t just dismiss it out of hand because the task seems insurmountable right now.”

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt such a flush of true affection for my sister. As we’ve gotten older and drifted apart, it’s been hard to connect.

But the mere fact she believes in me and has offered to help has me practically ready to ruin my eye makeup with tears.

She must sense I’m on the verge of messing up all her hard work because she gives me a bright smile and pulls me up from the bench. “Listen… let’s get this evening behind us, then tomorrow you and I will sit and make a game plan on how you can accomplish this.”

There are a million things I could say to Fallon, but all I can do is take the initiative this time and pull her into a hug. Like I was earlier today, she’s surprised by the spontaneous affection and is stiff at first, but then her arms come around me, and the embrace turns warm and meaningful.

Maybe this is a turning point in our relationship, I think, realizing I would not mind that at all.

CHAPTER 4

Finley

Fallon and I arrive at her gallery an hour before the show starts, although it’s clear setup has been going on for far longer. Caterers bustle around, setting up tables of little canapes that are barely big enough to chew, fresh sashimi, and delicate pastries. Waiters fill large silver buckets of ice on pedestals within which they push down bottles of expensive champagne to grab at the ready. More tables have nothing but fluted crystal glasses for the bubbly.

There are still men on ladders making slight adjustments to some of the large-scale paintings, and Fallon immediately moves into owner mode, sailing around to make sure all the preparations are on schedule.

I’ve already got a slight headache brewing just from the anxiety of having to socialize with people I have nothing in common with. Deciding to hang out in Fallon’s office, I carefully make my way there on the spiky-heeled shoes I’m wearing.

After Fallon got her degree in Fine Arts, she managed a gallery for three years. It had always been her dream to have her own business and with the help of her very wealthy boyfriend-soon-to-be-husband, she opened this gallery—simply called Fallon’s—a mere two years ago. However, with Blain’s contacts and Fallon’s exquisite taste and eye for detail, it quickly became known as “the” place to find timeless pieces created by fresh, new artists who had the promise to become big.

It’s a gorgeous space located right on First Avenue in Belltown. Big windows, black lacquered floors, and pristine white walls make it the perfect space to display the treasures she shows for commission, most of which lean toward the contemporary. The prices she charges ensure that, with or without marrying into the Stratherton family, Fallon will have a comfortable life.

Looking back over our childhood, and through the tribulations of being raised by a single father who was not all that mentally stable, I think Fallon was the ambitious child. She was industrious, forward-thinking, and always eager to accept a challenge.

Frankly, she was my hero, and I always told myself, “I want to be more like Fallon.”

Not exactly how it turned out, though.

While Fallon flits about, I settle into her small office at the rear of the gallery. The dress she has me in isn’t all that comfortable—way too tight to be honest—so I can’t sprawl on her loveseat against the wall. Instead, I take a prim seat on the edge, noting the dress has a scandalous slit up the side, and pull my phone out of the small black handbag Fallon had given me.

For the next hour, I do research, using search terms such as “owning your own business” and “silent partners” and “how to leverage equity in your home as collateral”. I get sucked down different rabbit holes, finding myself having to back up and start again. My head swims with information overload, but I keep plugging away at it.

I pull up a new search field on Google, then type in, “organizations that help startup companies” and dive down that tunnel of swirling information. There are governmental agencies and private philanthropies. There are “private investors” but the interest rates they charge are exorbitant, and I’d be indebted to them forever.