Chapter 6 - The Paper and the Fire
The library on the second floor smelled like old leather and vinegar. A massive fire was burning in a fireplace made of green marble, the flames throwing long, orange shadows across the rows of gold-lettered books that went all the way to the twelve-foot ceiling.
Arthur, the bald lawyer, had laid three separate piles of paper on a small writing desk near the fire. Each pile was held down by a heavy silver weight shaped like a sleeping lion.
"It's a standard confidentiality release, Miss Song," Arthur said, offering me a gold-plated pen that looked like it weighed a pound. "The monthly distribution is contingent on your residency remaining outside the tri-state area. The funds will be deposited on the first of each month, starting tomorrow."
Julian sat in a large leather chair by the fire, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He hadn't taken his shoes off; they were still polished, reflecting the orange light of the flames like two small mirrors. Christopher was gone—his car had left for Le Bernardin ten minutes ago—but Adrian was standing near the window, looking out into the dark courtyard where the rain was still coming down.
I walked over to the desk. I didn't take the pen. I picked up the first stack of papers—the one with my name, Autumn Song, typed in neat black letters across the top.
"Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money where I come from," I said.
"It's a lot of money anywhere, Autumn," Julian said, taking a slow sip from his glass. "It's more than your mother earned in five years of selling those tomatoes."
"She didn't sell them for the money," I said. "She sold them because she liked talking to the people at the market. She liked when Mrs. Gable told her the red ones were sweet enough for pie."
I turned around, holding the paper in both hands, and before Arthur could move his briefcases, I threw the first three pages into the center of the green marble fireplace.
The fire didn't hesitate. The paper was dry—the expensive, heavy bond paper that law firms use—and it caught with a sharp, blue flash before turning into a sheet of orange flame that curled upward into the black soot of the chimney.
"What are you doing?" Arthur shouted, reaching for the water carafe on the table as if the whole room were about to go up.
"Autumn," Julian said. He didn't shout. He stood up from his leather chair, setting his glass down on the mantelpiece with a single, sharp clink that sounded like a small bell. "That document costs six thousand dollars in filing fees alone. Don't be stupid."
"I'm not stupid," I said, looking at the black ash floating up into the dark brickwork. "My mother spent twenty-four years believing that if I came here, I'd have three brothers who would look at my face and see her. She thought you'd want to know she didn't hate you. She thought you'd want to know she kept the blue hat with the sharks in her cedar chest behind the water heater."
I walked over to the door, my plastic bag hitting my knee with every step.
"Keep your money, Julian," I said, my hand on the bronze handle of the double doors. "Keep your hedge fund. I'm going back to the bus station. The 10:15 goes all the way to Columbus."
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"The blood work isn't back yet," Adrian called out from the window. He hadn't moved, but his face was white against the dark glass of the pane. "Vance has thirty minutes left on the sequence."
"It doesn't matter what the blood says, Adrian," I said, looking at him through the orange smoke from the fireplace. "You already know who I am. You're just too scared of Julian to say it out loud."
