The room goes quiet.
Robert, the historian among us, stands. “I think Rockefeller started the House of Eights with only eight members.” He clears his throat, his face reddening. “Four members infiltrated and are working against us.”
Tom sputters in disbelief. “Run that shit by me again?”
I lower my head, watching my hands tremble as I pick at a hangnail. Everyone is yelling at one another, throwing accusations across the room.
The only ones quiet are Eric and I.
There has always been a slightly menacing feel to the House of Eights. I didn’t want to continue initiation, but the only way out was death.
Nothing to take lightly.
Somehow, it makes sense that four of the group might be trying to destroy us from the inside. Maybe bartering secrets, siphoning off riches… ending lives?
Goosebumps rise on my arms.
The calculated, uncanny billionaires revered in these halls could make most fictional villains blush with their ruthlessness. We sit among traitors. Catching Eric’s eye, I know he may be the only person I trust going forward.
For an hour, I sit silent while the noisiest among us hurl insults and call names. Aaron paces the entire time, interjecting when it gets loud enough that no one is being heard.
The meeting adjourns, but I remain in my seat.
So does Eric.
Genuine fear alights his face when he stands to dig a piece of paper from his pants pocket. He shoves it into my hand before Aaron is back at the table. “This was in my backpack.”
The enemy is among us.
Terrifying words to read. Who left it?
Aaron reenters the room after realizing Eric isn’t behind him, putting an end to our discussion.
Aaron leans against the stone wall with his arms crossed. “Well, Henry, have you figured it out yet?”
Not fond of admitting he has the upper hand over me, I shrug. Aaron Rothschild gets off on being superior. I’ve never understood Eric liking him. Not at all. My friends and I don’t. He’s been brutal toward Biz.
But there isn’t an explanation before Eric yells, “Oh, fuck. What does that mean?”
We all stare, stunned, at the elaborate stone clock on the south wall.
It’s running again.
It’s been nonfunctioning since we started meeting here.
Wait a damn minute.
My skin crawls. This is not good.
“Are you blinking in Morse code? Biz?”
In our hurry to leave the Great Hall, Eric, Aaron, and I weren’t as careful as we usually are. After checking to see if there was a logical reason for the clock restarting, we determined there most definitely was not. Stumbling upon Bizzy, who was clearly looking for an entrance to the chapel, I knew I’d have to come up with a reasonable excuse for being with them.
Seeing us, she tried to hide. Fortunately, I’m the only one that saw her.
“Huh. Could be. Why were you traipsing around in the dark, in the basement of the Great Hall with Eric and Aaron? What in the world is going on with that?”
“Nah-uh, let’s deal with you trying to break into the chapel. You’re lucky it was just me who saw you. Aaron would turn you in.”
