I sent Cyrus the two-million dollars immediately after I left. He called later to let me know that he received it and used it already, and that I’d receive a call from him tomorrow morning. We had this first phone call about two hours after I left Drake’s house, after I’d reached my hotel. I couldn’t help but cry in my bed, thinking of what could've happened during that two hours. Obviously, Cyrus had already spoken to Drake. But what else? Did he already execute the plan? Was this already a done deal, or could I rush back to the mansion soon enough to tell Cyrus to call everything off?
Even if Drake was still alive by then, I wouldn’t go back. Of course, Cyrus and I put this all together, but if it really wasn’t meant to be, it wouldn’t happen. There would be someone or something to have stopped us by now. This was Drake’s destiny, his time and place to go. We were only apprentices of this greater power.
As satisfying as that solution may be, it still meant that if this was Drake’s destiny, then everyone else had one. What was Keziah’s? Now that I wasn’t with her, what would become of her? What would she do all alone in that big house that I bought her? Would she be alone?
It made me extremely uncomfortable to imagine Keziah with someone else, so I forced myself to stop thinking about what would come of her.
What about Belphoebe? She was truly insane, a girl who didn’t know right from wrong, who was driven by greed and curiosity. Once Drake was dead and I bought the mansion from its beneficiary, what would she do with her life? What if she was the one who the mansion would be given to? If this was true, I’d have quite a difficult time convincing her to sell it to me, and she might even force me to do something I normally wouldn’t, something dangerous. I neglected this thought, too.
The only thing left in my mind was anxiety for the sky to get darker and for the hours to roll by. For tomorrow. Because, even if it wasn’t midnight yet, this day was done for me. I could feel in my bones that my uncle was dead, and no matter how much of a devilish man he was, I loved him. He provided for me numerous times in my life even when my father didn’t want him to, and he’d do the same for anyone else he cared about. He was business savvy and knew how to control people. This might not be a positive attribute, but it got him through life more than comfortably. That’s everyone’s goal here, I think: to get through it.
I was through with this day.
---
The next morning, I opened my eyes to a bright burst of sun oozing through the half-closed blinds. The sheets were still covering my feet, my head didn’t hurt, and there were no servants bugging me about taking a shower before breakfast. It was a good start to a very unpredictable day.
I did take my shower, but with the freedom of not having to be at a dining table with a bunch of people I didn’t necessarily like in ten minutes. I stayed in there for about twenty, brushed my teeth with a smile, and then - for the first time since I was a teenager - shaved my face. I felt happy, like I was a new person starting on a completely new slate.
That is, until my phone rang.
I rushed out of the bathroom to answer, thinking that it could be Keziah telling me she’d found someone else or Belphoebe saying she was about to kill herself or Drake saying our little plan was a bust. But as promised, it was Cyrus.
“Good morning, Aubrey.” He said.
“Good morning,” I tried not to make it too obvious that he’d ruined my mood. “How are things?”
“If by that you mean ‘how did things go last night’, then things are great. Your beloved uncle is gone. Four hours ago, Haley found him dead, and she told Madeleine. The whole house knows, and they’re crying. Keziah is here, by the way.”
I looked at the clock: ten AM. Haley found him when she was trying to wake up for six, as usual. Following routine.
“Are you telling me Keziah is here because she told you to?”
“No, I’m telling you so that you know that I know you two broke up. You could’ve told me this last night, you know.”
I sighed. “We aren’t friends, Cyrus.”
“You’re right. We’re business partners. So get dressed and get over here now, because the lawyer is on his way and we need to do business.”
He hung up.
When leaving the hotel, I took everything with me and checked out. This was a move of optimism; I was going to Drake’s mansion with hopes of being able to stay there. I didn’t know exactly how I was going to accomplish this or if it was even the right decision to make, but for now my heart was set on it.
Chicago drove me there faster than he ever had. At first, we were taking a cool ride, sharing small talk as usual, but once I told him that my uncle had died he started running red lights in an effort to make it before another hour since his death passed.
I told him to wait, left my things in the car, and went up to the gates. They were closed again; the only other time I’d ever seen the gates closed was when I first came here. Drake only closed them to show off to me and the other newbies that day. I rang the bell, and instead of hearing a voice asking who’s there, the gates just slid open with the same deafening creakiness from before. No one came to escort me to the door. I walked there myself.
Cyrus was waiting for me. He looked sharp, wearing a suit that probably costed him no less than five-thousand dollars, shoes of the same price, and his hair slicked all the way back. He smiled when he saw me.
“You look dapper this morning,” He said.
I shrugged. “I’m only trying to catch up to you.”
“Well wipe that casual look off your face. When you walk in here, try to be as solemn as possible, alright? Everyone in here knows how much you hated your uncle before he died so they’ll be looking at you to see how you’re acting.”
I tried to look less casual, something I didn’t exactly know how to accomplish, and followed Cyrus into the house. Candles burned on every corner and old pictures of Drake that used to be coated with dust were now spotless, hanging higher on the walls than before. In the living room, the Three Musketeers, Alison, Keziah, Belphoebe, and Madeleine stood in a circle of prayer. The servants shuffled around the house, carrying towels and plates of fruit for whoever might want them as they always did, only now they were all in street clothes. Cyrus and I stood in the entryway of the living room, waiting for the prayer to finish.
Madeleine was the one to say ‘amen’, and every head raised and turned to me. They weren’t necessarily crying, but there was a piercing expression of graveness in their eyes.
“Hello,” I gave the crowd one general wave. They answered under their breath.
“I’m sorry you had to miss the prayer.” Madeleine told me.
“Oh, I’ll be doing a lot of that on my own.” I said. This was a lie.
She walked over to me cautiously, like she wasn’t certain that I was upset with her, and then engulfed me in a tight, motherly hug. I hugged her back, letting her sob into my shoulder softly. I could bet a million dollars Cyrus was rolling his eyes behind us.
“You don’t have to blame yourself, Aubrey.” Madeleine held my hands. “I know you might feel horrible for not being at peace with him before he went, but this is in no way your fault.”
Yes it is.
“I understand, Miss M.”
Madeleine turned around to make sure the others weren't listening to us - they were doing the opposite, trying their best to act like they didn’t even notice I walked in - and whispered: “If you’re still upset at the others, you have every right to be. They were so lost in all of that money...they should’ve known better.”
“I’m not upset. I’m not pleased with them, but not upset.” I told her. I think this was true.
“Alright Mom, sorry to interrupt this, but me and Aubrey have work to do.” Cyrus tugged me by the arm. I told Madeleine I’d be back and followed him through the kitchen and to the door of the East Wing. It wasn't off-limits anymore, so there was no one to get us in trouble. He unlocked the door. We stopped in the living room, the part of the East Wing that was identical to the West, the part that looked like a normal house. I was so used to breezing past this and going straight for the library that I almost forgot it was there. The room was completely silent, like there was a spirit of muteness floating through the darkness. Cyrus turned on the light, but the room was still dull. All I could see was dust on the furniture and a glass of water on the coffee table that had probably been there for weeks.
“What are we doing in here?” I asked. Cyrus sat down on the couch and crossed his legs.
“Waiting.” He said.
“For…?”
“The lawyer.”
Ah. That’s what it was. We weren’t even going to wait for a day to pass before claiming what was rightfully ours.
I sat beside him and we waited. No conversation, no eye contact, just fading patience and the smell of the elderly. I tried to think about anything other than Drake, because I hadn’t cried about his death since it occurred and I didn't want the first time to be now when I’m sitting beside someone like Cyrus - I wouldn’t hear the last of it.
He was the first one to break. After an hour, he walked out, saying he was going to get some Scotch and asking if I wanted any. I called him an alcoholic and said that some apple juice would be fine. It was even harder to wait in the room on my own. I started to feel deprived of oxygen, like the walls were coming in closer and closer. I stood from the couch and walked around the room, shaking my head and squeezing my eyes shut to push the images of Drake and the girls downstairs and Makonnen out of my mind. Just before I gave up, before it got extremely hard to breathe and all I wanted to do was scream, he walked in. A fat, sloppy man with sweat dripping from his almost-bald head and onto his bottom lip. He held a large filing folder in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.
“Cyrus McCallum?” He asked me.
“No, I’m Aubrey. His, er, friend.” I put put my hand to shake his and he stared at it like it disgusted him, and only then did I realize his were full. I took the coffee from him, rested it on the table, and sat on the couch.
“I’m Mr. Alps.” The lawyer said, sitting in the chair across from me. “Like the mountains.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Is Mr. McCallum going to be here any time soon?”
“He’s actually -
Just then, Cyrus came through the door. “Oh, I didn’t know you were here. I only brought one glass of Scotch.”
Mr. Alps waved his hand in a trivial manner, like he didn’t want the liquor anyway. Cyrus gave me my juice and took a short sip of his own before sliding into his seat. It was business time now.
“First, I need someone to sign this death certificate.” He pulled a paper from his folder. “You need to get in contact with the physician. Secondly, we need to get your story straight for the autopsy. Once they find the poisonous substance in his body, they’ll be seeking out you two, if you were the ones here with him.”
So apparently, the lawyer was in on the scheme.
“How do we avoid an autopsy?”
“You can pay someone off to report false information when it’s conducted, but that’s tricky. It would be easier if you told investigators that Drake asked for that specific bottle of ‘water’, meaning that he intended to kill himself that night. Or something along those lines, but paying someone off is tricky.” Alps said.
“We can figure that out later,” Cyrus finished his glass. “What’s important now is the will. Let’s take a look at that.”
The lawyer went through his folder, pulled out another folder, and then found the paper. My heartbeat already increased. He looked over it briefly and handed it to Cyrus.
“I don’t want to see it. You read it to me.”
Alps cleared his throat, put on some glasses, and began to skim. “Well, he appointed his wife as the Executor of the Will, so legally she’s supposed to be here. But we’re just going to be going over it, no harm done.” He paused to straighten the paper. “Okay, here are the bequests.”
Cyrus and I moved closer.
“To Alison Henry, he gives eleven million dollars. He says that he’s giving her five million for doing him favors, another five for the loss of her mother, and another million for the medication used to take out his mother. It also says that he knows the medication doesn’t amount to that much money, but she deserves it.”
Dramatic pause. Cyrus and I look at each other. The story Drake told me about all the newbies was fresh in my mind.
“For William Buckworth, we have five million for being one of the most obedient companions possible, and for keep endless secrets. The same amount goes to Haley Oswald for being a beautiful servant on the inside and out.”
“Nothing for any of the other servants?” I asked.
“Nope, it’s just those two.” Mr. Alps said. “Anyway, Michael Goldberg, Joshua Cannon, and Isaac Eisenhower each get fifteen million. The will says that ten-million is compensation for what Drake stole from their fathers, and another five for the loss. Keziah Haughton receives twenty-five: fifteen because each of her brothers were worth five, and another ten for her troubles. Belphoebe Thomas is appointed fifty million dollars, because the information she kept to herself is worth more than what the others did for Drake.”
I felt like vomiting. Keziah would probably be satisfied with her share. She wasn’t competitive like Bell was; she wouldn’t compare her money to the others’. Michael and the other two would have a ball with their forty-five million. Belphoebe received the biggest prize for her greed; she dug up so much dirt on Drake, and choosing to keep it to herself instead of doing the right thing and reporting it got her fifty million dollars. But what she didn’t get was the main mansion, which meant that buying it from her wouldn’t be a problem for me anymore. Good news.
“To Cyrus,” Mr. Alps continued, “Drake leaves his property in Arizona, his property in Hawaii, and one-hundred million dollars. ‘All of this as compensation for the injustice I put him through. I didn’t raise him like I was supposed to. I could’ve given him a much better life.’”
Cyrus almost fell over in laughter. He picked up his glass, saw it was empty, and drank the rest of my apple juice just for the hell of it.
“I’m rich, Aubrey boy.” He laughed. “I’m filthy rich! Have you seen those houses? I have, and they’re gorgeous. What they’re worth is even more gorgeous.”
“I’m delighted for you, Cyrus.”
He put his hands in his pockets and shook his head at me. “Alps, please read this sour apple his bequests so he can stop pouting and celebrate with me.”
My stomach began to churn once I realized that the only two people left were Madeleine and I. No one had received the mansion yet, which meant that I’d either have to buy it from Madeleine or…
“For Aubrey Graham,” Mr. Alps cleaned his glasses, “Drake has a note on the longer side. It reads: ‘Aubrey Boy. My favorite, you know. You always were. Out of spite. You know about your father’s feud with me. He was onto me, but he wasn’t. He knew I was up to something, and he came close to figuring out what it was numerous times. He was upset with himself that he never figured it out and with me for doing it. We were always in a competition, keeping things from each other to get under each other’s skin. It was petty, but if he really found out about my empire, it would be no laughing matter. He died before he could. I didn’t kill him, so please don’t think I did. But I must say that after his death, I felt avenged, like I’d won the contest. I decided years ago that spitefully, I would give this to you. I would do what your father hated me to: provide for you. He always wanted to prove that he could take care of his family, that he could be comfortable even while he wasn’t as wealthy as me. That’s why I always bought you better gifts on holidays and took you to amusement parks, to piss him off. That’s what I’m doing now. I’m providing for you, to piss him off. So for you, my boy, I leave my empire. All of it - the servants, the slaves. There is a document in the library that will teach you how to determine how much money each slave is worth, so you don’t need me to explain it. This is a business where you can make five million dollars in an hour, Aubrey. It’s not something to take for granted. Make good use of it, because when you’re old and sickly like I am while I write this, you will have to demolish it. You will have to set the ones you have left free. It will be over, and you will still be rich, and everybody wins. They won’t tell on you. I leave you my mansion, my Du Travail et de Labeur. It, and its legacy, is yours. I have also appointed one-hundred million for you to start off with. Enjoy.’”
And there were the tears. Rolling right down my face, one at a time and then two. They’d arrived. I cried silently, not for the loss of my uncle but for how toxic he was, how much of a corrupt soul he was. Even after his death, he’s still evil. He accepted it. He was crafted by the Devil himself. That’s why he was here on Earth, working as an extension of Satan. He was all-around bad, and I was like him in so many senses. At that moment, in my confusion and devastation, I traveled back to high school days, zoning out in French class. I couldn’t remember much of the language, but just enough to realize what it meant. Du Travail et de Labeur: labor and work. Because that’s what this mansion was built from - the labor and work of the servants. That’s what the legacy was.
“He leaves Madeleine his remaining properties, and the money left after he appointed money to the others. She gets about two-hundred million if I’ve calculated correctly, and about ten properties across the globe.” Alps concluded.
“That still doesn’t nearly amount to the yours,” Cyrus said to me with a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s still not as much as the empire is worth.”
A sense of grimness filled Cyrus’ voice, filled my bones, the room. I could imagine Drake sitting on the chair beside us, his legs crossed with a pipe resting on his lips. He was smiling. He was torturing me, and he liked it, and he was smiling.
I left.