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CHAPTER 4

Janus

"Your father was a good man, Mr. Malcolm. I had been at his service for most of my career. He might have fallen in love with the wrong woman," he said, then amended his words when he saw my glare. "Okay, the right woman at the wrong time, but he was a generous philanthropist."

Mr. Twain was right. Why was I being a fool? I needed to go there and claim my inheritance. Who turned down billions? Anyway, I would be sharing the money with four others and even the most loyal servants, from what I heard.

"Okay, then."

"Great! Do you know your father was delighted that you took industrial engineering? He said that you would fit right into his leather goods business. You must admit, Mr. Malcolm, that somehow blood is thicker than water. You managed to take a course that would benefit your father's business."

"Isn't the oldest son handling the business?"

"Yes, Joseph Sangster. His degree is in business. Very predictable, if I had a right to comment to his face."

Ha! I had to keep a straight face as Mr. Twain spouted his judgments with the same monotone and poker face.

"Your degree, on the other hand, can help continue improving your father's products," he continued. Then, he smiled at me. It was a tight-lipped smile, but somehow it reached his eyes. He meant what he said. What a curiosity this man was. I had always been awkward, but he had managed to make me feel at ease with his strangeness.?

"I do wish that this happened before my mother died, not that I am saying that I wished Mr. Sangster died earlier. Okay, I just wish she were still alive to enjoy all this. Things went downhill fast after the divorce. I will accept it if this is Mr. Sangster's way of atoning for his sins. However, I still cannot accept that he was a good man."

"That's fine, Mr. Malcolm. By the way, you need to be at the wake. Tomorrow morning around nine should be a good time."

"Will all the adopted children be there?"

"Yes. Joseph Sangster, 27, dark-haired, current CEO. Emilie, 25, blonde model. Then, Rafael, 26, looks like a rock star but is actually a ballet dancer."

"Mm. Aren't there four of them? There usually are four when I check the pictures."

"Oh, do you mean Valerie Matthews, 24, and disabled?"

I cringed at the word, wondering how she thought of people describing her like that.?

"She is the one with white-blonde hair, right?"

"Yes. Val has not been adopted."

I was startled. Why would a billionaire take in a teenager and not adopt her when he adopted the rest of them?

"Why?" I asked aloud, incredulous.

"I cannot understand it, either. She is the only sane person there if you ask me. A lovely girl, but people cannot see beyond the wheelchair."

"Huh. Mr. Twain, if you know the reason, tell me now."

He just shrugged, and I let it go then, even though I intended to find out more. We shook hands, and then I set out to go home. I did not have a lot of things. Mr. Twain said that he would arrange for me to start staying at Briar Hill by next week. He would meet me at the wake, and then we would be talking to the rest of the family together. My family. How strange. I would have to do something about the apartment lease. My contract covered four months more.

The following day, I finally visited Briar Hill for the first time. It was intimidating, and so were the people I saw inside the house. I could swear they were whispering about me. Some were even openly staring. Had Mr. Twain or anyone else said anything about me?

Then, I saw her. Valerie Matthews. She looked just as lost as I was but still determined to maneuver herself in the suffocating space. My breath caught at how much more beautiful she was in real life. The wheelchair seemed to make people see her as fragile, but she looked anything but. Her bright blue eyes seemed to take in everything with curiosity.

I beat myself for not telling her the truth – that I knew she was not adopted. I had to pretend that I did not ask questions about her, but that was not even an issue. She did not keep it a secret, openly admitting she was not legally adopted.

Finally, my eyes were caught by my father's portrait. So, this was how I would look in about three decades? I could not help but narrow my eyes. It had seemed unfair that this man was allowed to ruin my life and then leave me money when it was already mending itself. It would appear to many that his billions would raise me from my lowly position when I had been working hard to get to where I wa

And yet, I was there. Despite the anger that he sparked in me, there was something else that Mr. Twain said that thoroughly convinced me I should be there. He said that Mr. Sangster might have been murdered, and the suspects were his three adopted children.?

They got everything I had never had growing up, and still – they thought of killing him? I promised myself that I would find out who did it.

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