The room was completely quiet now, all eyes trained on them. The police weren’t around to hear the inevitable confession, but that didn’t matter much at this point. It would be all of them against Evie.
“Fola, what are you doing?” Perdita asked quietly from behind.
Cleaning up our family messes, like I always do.Fola hoped Perdita would be smart enough to keep quiet and, as Bilal had said,let things run their natural course.
Evie’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “How did you—”
“How did I know all of that? Well, I know a lot of things, Evie Gray,” Fola said, circling her now. “For example, I know that you’ve been keeping tabs on us. I found your little red notebook,” Fola said, pulling it out of her blazer.
Evie’s eyes widened. “How did you get that?”
Fola shrugged. “On our way down here, saw it in your back pocket and thought I’d take a look. It helps being a professional chess player. You develop the ability to move your fingers quickly,” Fola said as she began flipping through the pages haphazardly. She’d already skimmed through the booklet on their descent down the stairs, knowing Evie was trying to act confident and not look back at her. As such, she knew vaguely of its contents; this part was just for dramatic effect.
“This book shocked me, Evie. I mean, here I was thinking you were a dear family friend who’d just come back to visit, but instead it seems you’ve been stalking us. I mean a wholejournaltitledThe Heirs, dedicated just to myself and my siblings? Scary stuff. It made me start to question everything. Have you been pretending to show us kindness since you turned up yesterday—or even before that? Do you in fact have some twisted plan for my family that you aim to exploit? I heard you were even hunting down my father last night.”
The room was quiet then.
Evie’s face was neutral, but Fola could see the storm brewing behind the mask.
“You seem to have lied about so much, Evie. I wonder what other nefarious things you’re hiding,” Fola said.
Evie looked at her in disbelief. “Are you seriously trying to suggest that IkilledMr. Button?”
Fola could hear whispers, the sound of feet shuffling, disturbing the quiet. “You tell me,” Fola replied. “Didyou kill my father?” Fola’s desperate heart rate rose, the air in the room quickly disappearing.
“Wow,” Evie said, scoffing a little.
“Wow indeed,” Fola said. “Now, are you going to explain yourself or should I go and let Chief Waxler know about my discoveries?”
“You can go and do whatever you like, Fola. But it won’t change the fact that you and I both know that I did not kill him. You’re right about some things. I did leave Italy, and yes, I was removed from the company, but not for anyof the reasons you seem to be insinuating. You were alsowrongabout many things. Last I heard, doing a deep dive into a famous family—one whom my family works for, by the way—isn’t illegal, or even novel. And unlike yours, Fola, my alibi from last night is watertight. I’m in the official footage taken by the event videographer during the time of the murder.” Evie shifted her stance, an unexpected confidence steeling her demeanor. “The thing is… the videographer was there to capture Anwar with the trophy and to film the celebrations after, and the firework display—during which time Mr. Button was murdered. And yetyouare nowhere to be seen in any of it…,” Evie said, looking directly at Fola and then staring straight ahead at the rest of the Buttons, minus Bilal, who was still elsewhere. “None of you were, for that matter.”
Evie straightened her posture and folded her arms. “As I said, I didn’t kill your father. But I am almost certain I know who did.”
“Who?” Fola said, feigning confidence as she arched one of her perfectly plucked brows, even though her heart was racing at one million beats per second. She locked eyes with Evie for a brief moment, and it was all she needed to know that this was the end.
Evie turned to the corner of the room, where a lone figure sat in front of the fireplace still fiddling with his checkerboard. “You,” Evie said, looking directly at Octavius. “I think it wasyou.”
ACT IV
CHECKMATE
THE NIGHT BEFORE
11:36P.M.—THE HAMPTONS
“I would like you to kill me.”
Octavius Button stared at his father in complete disbelief.
“Wh-what?”
“I would like you to k—”
“No, I heard you,” Octavius said, his already-growing nausea increasing significantly.
“So, what is the problem?” Mr. Button asked, staring at his son, unblinking.
Octavius was almost certain that the cancer must have spread to his father’s brain. That was the only explanation for any of this.
