Ben.
Renee.
I think about the expression Ben gets sometimes. The sighing. ‘How much I look like her.’ I always assumed that was grief, but what if it was guilt? Guilt for…
No.
I leave the glass where it is and take the stairs. My legs feel distant, like I’m watching someone else climb, my muscles giving slightly under each step.
I push into the room. “Duch.”
She jumps to her feet.
“Lumad LTD.” I get close to her, holding the phone out. “That’s the account that paid my tuition this year. That’s the account on the sporting precinct invoice. Adolf just sent me the photo.” She’s looking at the phone, but I go on. “It’s the same account, Duch. It’s the exact same fucking account.”
She blinks up at me, concerned brown eyes still not understanding what is right in front us. “What does that mean, Konnor?”
“The same person who transferred Donavon Knight over $5,000,000 on August 22, 1999—the same day I was taken—also paid my tuition this year.”
“What are you saying?”
“Ben and Renee Slater paid your father to take me.”
A haunting silence follows that sentence as Blesk’s eyes slowly widen. Like it’s all a lie. Now she knows. This house. My happy memories with Cassidy and Flick. My amazing new life. My dad… Renee.No.My only sense of family has been scraped clean.
Tabula fucking Rasa.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
blesk
“Ben and Renee Slater paid your father to take me.”
The words hang between us, changing everything in an instant. We can’t take them back, can’t go back to where we were. Can’t give him back his happy new family.
Konnor darts for the door.
I chase him up the staircase, his every footfall hitting the steps like something deadly dropped from a skyscraper to the pavement below. His shoulders don’t move when he walks—his whole upper body is locked into one piece, arms swinging stiffly at his sides. I catch a glimpse of his jaw, hard and tense, as he rounds the banister at the top landing.
“Konnor, wait!”We should talk.Check the documents again.My cheeks are cold and wet—I’ve teared up. “Wait.”
He doesn’t knock when he reaches a wooden door on the third level, just shoves it open hard enough that it bashes off the wall. He crosses the room in four strides to where Ben is sitting, and I almost scream for him to stop, but he doesn’t hit him. He slaps the bank statement down on the desk.
“Fucking explain that!”
Ben slowly stands, his eyes moving from his son to me and back. “Son, what’s going on here?”
“Don’t fucking call me ‘son’,” Konnor sneers. “Why have you been lying to me? What does this mean? Explain!” Konnor stabs the statement with his finger.
He starts to pace, scowling at Ben as if he’s now our enemy, the wood beneath his feet creaking. Should we be calling… someone? The police? Are we in danger?
I say, “Konnor, ple?—”
He spins to face me. Grabbing my shoulders, he stares down at me. “If you need to leave, leave now, but don’t tell me to wait on this. Don’t tell me to bury it. That is not me!” I gasp at his choice of words, but nod. He releases me, spinning back to his face his dad. “Answers, now!”
My heart squeezes.
Ben pushes his glasses up his nose. He takes his eyes off Konnor, peering down at the statement that is now in his hands. He lips move soundlessly as he reads until something transforms his face—realisation or devastation.
