“Why what?” Perdita replied, looking nervous.
“Why would he leave you everything? You don’t even live at the Manor anymore; you don’t call or text him. You hardly ever visit, always off in some other country promoting your art or working on another piece. Why would he leave you everything when…” Fola’s voice trailed off, but Octavius knew his sister well enough to know what the words she left unspoken were.
Why would he leave you everything when I was the one who stayed?
It was a good question, and one Octavius, Romeo, and Bilal were also looking to Perdita to answer. Why her? Why everything?
“I—I… I don’t know,” Perdita said. Somehow Octavius could feel the lie in her words, the same lie that broke her voice apart, making her stutter. He was good at that, spotting the lie.
“Bullshit,” Fola said, her eyes narrowed.
“I have no idea why Dad did that,” Perdita continued with more conviction, “and quite frankly I’m too tired for this interrogation, or whatever this is. Dad is the only one who could have told any of us the reasons behind his twisted thoughts and ideas.”
Another lie, Octavius noted. But why?
He watched his sister thoughtfully. She must have had a good reason to not want to disclose the truth. Maybe she knew it was worse than any lie could ever be.
Fola laughed; it was a high-pitched guttural sort of laughter that could only come from the depths of painful memories. More tears involuntarily bled from her eyes. “More bullshit,” she said simply.
“It’s not bullshit, Fola. It’s the truth,” Perdita insisted.
“Liar,” Fola hissed, stepping forward into Perdita’s personal space. Perdita stepped forward too, giving Fola a dangerous look. Under different circumstances, it would be a comical sight, since Fola was all of five foot tall and Perdita had at least eight inches on her and could probably squash her sister like a bug.
Luckily, there was no bug squashing, because Romeo was now stepping in, in usual Romeo fashion.
“Why don’t I make us all some chamomile tea? Hmm? Cool off after the intensity of the, umm, reading.”
Octavius smiled fondly at his little brother’s uselessness.
“I don’t want tea. I want my full inheritance,” Fola said
Perdita crossed her arms. “Well, you heard Mr. Fowley in there—you’ve got it.”
“Perdita’s kind of got a point,” Bilal said. “We’ve all inherited at least fifty million dollars. I think we’ll live.”
Fola shot Bilal a death glare, one that didn’t seem to have any effect on the fencer, who was leaning back against the wall unbothered.
“Seriously? Siding with this backstabbing b—” Fola did not get to finish what Octavius was certain would have been very colorful alliteration, because she was stopped by the sudden presence of an intruder.
“I’ve been looking all over for you. Can we talk?” Thorin Philips interrupted, his eyes trained solely on Perdita.
Fola looked furious as Thorin stepped in front of her like she was invisible, not having a care in the world that he had broken up a very intense family debacle.
“Now’s not a good time, Thorin,” Perdita replied. Her voice sounded fragile and strained like she was on the verge of tears too.
Thorin glanced around at them all with his eyebrows knitted together and an analytical look on his face. He seemed to have come to the conclusion, finally, that they were dealing with something personal here.
“Are you guys okay? I’m sorry to hear about—” he started.
“About what? The fact that our father was murdered, and his killer is in this house? Or the fact that you’re here harassing us when you should be downstairs with the other suspects?” Fola cut in, her voice as sharp as her stare. “I’m not sure how you even got up here. Someone is meant to be keeping watch in case our father’s murderer decides to off the nextButtonin line. Actually, maybe that’s what you’re here to do now,” Fola said, her tone dangerously low.
“Thorin is not like that,” Perdita said, defending the boy as if they knew each other well.
“He’s not like what? An opportunist like his dad? Even if he isn’t a murderer, he’s probably still here to sell our woes to his father’s paper,” Octavius said.
Thorin looked completely taken aback by all the accusations. “I wouldneverever do that,” he said, eyes wide. “I know you have no reason to trust me, and you’re all hurting right now, but I would never do anything to hurt you or Mr. Button.” He shook his head, as if throwing the thought away intosome mental landfill. “And I’m nothing like my father and would appreciate being treated like my own person.”
“Whatever, Bilbo,” Octavius replied with an eye roll. The guy lookednothinglike a hobbit.
