Jay was letting his mind torture him. Were his insecurities because I’d rubbed off on him? My confidence because he’d rubbed off on me? We were no longer on a tightrope. We were together, through everything!
I saw Daisy up on the staircase with Mr. Gatsby, trying to catch my eye, and I nodded at her in confirmation. Mr. Gatsby was standing still, a suspicious look on his face, but he didn’t do anything. He couldn’t, now that I was one step ahead.
24.
The plan was in motion. All there was to do was follow through.
I slipped into the washroom when everyone was suitably distracted. No one noticed me, and it was all for the better now.
From there, I escaped through the window to the backyard. Past the lawn, I found Jay’s boat tied to a post on the little lake. This was where Zihan and I agreed to meet. We’d take the boat across the lake together, but he wasn’t here. I waited a few minutes and he still didn’t show up.
The show must go on.
I stepped onto the boat and turned off the lights. Then, I began rowing. Fireworks burst from behind Gatsby’s house and lit up the sky, distracting me. They were in the opposite direction from Buchanan’s property, so they distracted everyone else too.
I rowed, placid like the lake I was floating on, away from the people. The shores of Tom Buchanan’s mansion sloped uplike some gothic, ancient island. The lawn looked designed to welcome me.
I anchored the canoe, ran aground, and walked up like a king, the waves sweeping dramatically around the bottom of the island. It felt too perfect.
I unlocked the side door with Daisy’s key and stepped into the house. The open floor plan stretched out before me, vast and empty, like a hotel with no guests. I traced the polished silver crest on the bronze vases perched on the entryway pillars. Art deco wallpaper covered the walls, showcasing paintings of futuristic buildings that reached for the clouds. I couldn’t help but think—if I could, I’d take this whole house with me.
There were so many drawing rooms designed to let the light pour in, so much space. Floral patterns on the lamps and couches screamed Myrtle—her taste was everywhere. Above the fireplace, a deer’s head jutted out from the wall, its hooves pointed at opposite angles.
I took the staircase down to the cellar in between the main floor and basement, realizing again I was not a pampered prince like Jay, but for just these moments, I could pretend.
I could pretend it was all mine!
I passed by a mirror on the wall, on my way down the rest of the steps. Who would’ve thought a limp-wristed hoodlum would look so pretty robbing a house full of stolen fortune?
The first safe I found was up against a wall in the crawl space of the basement, just where Daisy had placed it on the map. Iclimbed inside, with the insulation and dust, and pulled out my tin of grease to melt the door off.
I crawled away from the smoke and melting metal, watching the door break down little by little. Then I saw it—gold. Solid bars, stacked neatly, each one gleaming like a small fortune. And, nestled beneath the bars, were beautiful necklaces of gold, emerald-studded bracelets, rings of bright ruby, and deep cobalt—precious stones that sparkled with their own light.
I dug deeper, pulling out handfuls of cash, crisp bills in stacks and bands, enough to fill my bag and then some. There were stacks of bonds wrapped in silk—old enough to be priceless. An overflow of pearls, diamonds, and jade, each one more exquisite than the last! It felt like I had opened the vault of a hidden empire—buried treasure from somewhere beneath the equator, far beyond what we needed, and enough to set us up for a lifetime.
Once my bag was full, I was eager to move on to the next safe. Heart racing, I went back upstairs, and on my way up, I heard a sound. Buchanan? Charlie? Clarence?
I tiptoed around the corner and up the stairs. In the kitchen, I found Cannon Cleary, dressed in his police uniform, pulling a wine bottle down from its rack. He glanced at me, smiled, and then returned to his business as if I were his brother coming down for a midnight snack.
I placed the heavy bag on the bright, big counter. “Um... Cannon? If I may... what the hell are you doing here?”
Cannon shrugged, a little. “Pass me that corkscrew, would you?”
There was a wooden appliance holder just by my elbow that hosted a myriad of cooking contraptions. I pulled out the corkscrew—half metal, half mahogany, sprouting two wings in the shape of throwing stars and a curly stabber in the middle.
I tossed it to Cannon, and he screwed the bottle open while sighing. “I had a long day. You ever have a long day?”
“Most of my days are quite long.” I examined his uniform. “I take it Charlie hired you to do mansion security?”
“Lots of undesirables on the peninsula tonight.” Cannon chugged the wine, pulled the bottle down and belched, and then tapped his fist into his chest. “Wow. I didn’t think you had it in you to break and enter, Clumsy Nick. And trying to blackmail Tom Buchanan? Not the smartest move,”
“How did you find out?”
“They showed me the letter! Men like Buchanan always thinks money buys them loyalty. I used a lot of goodwill to make them doubt it was you—they weresosure—just to saveyoursorry ass from another arrest!” He took another swing from the bottle. “Itwasyou, wasn’t it?”
“That’s sort of touching that you’d protect me, Cannon, but you also tried to burn me alive, so it doesn’t quite land.”
Cannon paused to look at me and then resigned himself to my knowledge of his crime. “You really are a better journalist than I thought.”
