The Brothers Hawthorne (The Inheritance Games, #4)(22)

That was what Grayson had been to his father—all that he had been. A risk.

“So I’ve been thinking!” Gigi popped out from behind a palm tree like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You asked about Mr. Trowbridge, right? And you know how I called him when I got arrested and he did pretty much nothing—like, he didn’t even tell my mom?”

Gigi’s tone and the speed with which she talked simultaneously made everything sound like a question and left absolutely no time for a response. “What if he knows about the safe-deposit box? What if he has record of the name my dad used to open it?”

Grayson was certain that Trowbridge had, in fact, done something when Gigi was taken into police custody, because she hadn’t actually been arrested. But right now, he focused on pushing the conversation in another direction. “If your father indeed had a safe-deposit box under a fake name, what makes you think Trowbridge would know that name?”

“I don’t know.” Gigi issued the words like they were a dismissal of Grayson’s query, rather than an admission that she hadn’t thought this through. “My dad was obviously taking precautions.” Gigi lowered her voice. “Maybe it has something to do with the guys in the suits.”

Only show surprise if it’s to your advantage to do so. “What guys in suits?”

“Who’s to say?” Gigi gave an adorable little shrug. “I only saw them once when they came to talk to my mom. I was supposed to be in school, but I’m a firm believer in unschooling and also I had cramps, so…” Another shrug.

“Men in suits came to your home?” Grayson pushed her to focus. “And spoke with your mother.”

“After they left, I heard her crying. I told Savannah, and she said it was probably nothing, but aliens could land on top of the portico and Savannah would still tell me that it was nothing.”

There were a limited number of possibilities for the scenario that Gigi had described with the “men in suits”—none of them good. Note to self, Grayson thought, fire Zabrowski.

“And if aliens did land on the portico,” Gigi continued buoyantly, “do you know who the Grayson family would call? Mr. Trowbridge. So I say we get up close and personal with his files. If we find the name, boom! We go back to the bank and finagle our way into that box. And don’t tell me we can’t because I’m pretty sure you can.”

Steal her key. Subvert her search for the name.

“Assume everything goes according to this plan of yours,” Grayson instructed. “You intend to go back to the bank where you were very recently arrested?” He used a tone designed to make her squirm, but she was, apparently, immune.

“We’ll mosey across that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime, our next move is obvious.”

Talk to Trowbridge, Grayson filled in silently.

“Party!” Gigi declared.

“I do not think obvious means what you think it means,” Grayson informed her.

“Trust me,” Gigi said, then she tugged him onto the porch. “Come on!”

Grayson let himself be led but balked when she threw open the front door to reveal a vast foyer with marble pillars. Compared to Hawthorne House, the Grayson mansion was nothing. The extravagance shouldn’t have intimidated him in the least.

The extravagance didn’t.

My nephew was the closest thing I will ever have to a son. Grayson could hear the words like Sheffield Grayson was standing right beside him.

“Look, ‘Grayson,’” Gigi said cheerfully, “we could stand here debating whether or not you’re going to come in or whether or not my plan is pure genius, or we could jump straight to the part where you give in.” Gigi ducked out of view and popped back up a moment later holding what appeared to be a very large housecat that resembled a small leopard. “This is Katara. She’s a sexy beast that loves cuddles but will scratch you if the situation calls for it.”

Grayson banished the memory of his father’s voice. The second he stepped across the threshold, the cat leapt out of Gigi’s arms and took off in one direction, while Gigi bounded off in another.

“Where are you going?” Grayson called after her.

“Party!” she called back, like that was an answer. “I know someone who can help.”





CHAPTER 19





GRAYSON


As he followed Gigi, Grayson committed the house’s floorplan to memory. A pair of bold, abstract paintings hung in the hall to the left of the foyer. As he and Gigi passed them, Grayson noted the small bronze plaques affixed to the wall beneath the massive canvases.

Savannah, age 3, one read. And the other: Gigi, age 3.

Not abstract paintings, then. Children’s paintings. Up close, it was clear there was no method to the brushstrokes, no mastery of white space or visual metaphor. The paintings simply were.

Grayson ripped his gaze from the wall.

“Two things,” Gigi declared when she stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor. “Don’t interrupt. And don’t comment on the music.” She threw open the door.

The first thing Grayson saw was himself. Mirrors. Three of the four walls of the massive room were lined with mirrored panes, ceiling to floor. The music Gigi had referenced was classical—and loud. At first glance, it would have been easy to mistake the space for a dance studio, if not for the markings on the floor and the hoop.