Fragile Facade

by Sophie Davis

  “But this is such a big night–” my mother began, trying another tactic.

  “Lark is staying home.” My father’s tone was definitive, and it effectively ended further protest from my mother. She pursed her lips and crossed the foyer to where Jeanine was awkwardly standing with her coat, trying to pretend she was not privy to our family drama.

  “She is my daughter too, Phillip. It would be nice if either of you,” she shot an icy glare at first my father, and then me, “cared about my opinion.” My mother was sulking, plucking at my father’s emotional strings. When she pouted, he melted. At least, as long as he wasn’t on the phone or pouring over contracts or working in general. She had a captive audience in him tonight, and it was clear she was taking advantage. He’d pay handsomely for siding with me. I wouldn’t be surprised if some new, rare jewel found its way to her in the coming week.

  “Eleanor, of course we care. I just want our daughter to have her priorities in order. How am I ever going to retire, to travel the world with you full-time, if she doesn’t have the proper education to take over? Lark has to put in the time.” My father’s spiel left a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. Of course he wasn’t actually proud of me. I hadn’t done anything to be proud of yet. Admission to Columbia had been a big deal to him, but it was just the first step. I had a long way to go in my father’s eyes.

  There were so many things I wanted to say to my parents in that moment. As usual, I held my tongue. There was no point. Mom might have felt as though Dad and I were ganging up on her in tonight’s fight but, in the ongoing battle for control of my future, they always stood united against me. Both had their own agendas, and neither gelled with mine.

  “Have a great time tonight, guys. I wish I could go,” I said, forcing a smile.

  From where I stood, just over halfway down the staircase, I took a moment to appraise my parents. They really were a striking couple. My mother’s floor-length Valentino gown was dark blue-gray silk, a color that made her eyes sparkle and her skin glow. A large blue diamond in an antique cushion-cut setting was around her neck, dangling from a delicate strand of platinum with impeccably clear diamonds inset the entire way around. The necklace went perfectly with her flawless blue diamond engagement ring and diamond tennis bracelet. Dad wore a Valentino tux and a bowtie the same color as Mom’s dress. The initials of his monogrammed cufflinks were separated by sparkling diamonds. Between the flashbulbs and the bling adorning my parents, every person within three city blocks of the red carpet would be seeing spots tonight.

  My parents had paid ten thousand dollars a plate for tonight’s dinner, the proceeds going to an organization that fought world hunger, yet all they needed to do was pluck just one of the smaller diamonds from its setting to feed a child for a year. Every day, people around the globe were killed over less money than was resting against my mother’s slim throat. That thought made me shiver. Parading their wealth was asking for trouble.

  I descended the staircase to place a kiss on each of my parents’ cheeks. There was a heaviness deep within me, almost like my soul had suddenly donned a leaden belt. I swallowed back the knot that developed in the back of my throat to smile and wave as they swept into the elevator. Like a parent seeing her child off on a first date, I waited until the steel doors slid shut before closing and locking the front door behind them. I leaned against it as an overwhelming sadness washed over me.

  “Can I get you something, sweetheart? Maybe a cup of tea?”

  I’d forgotten that Jeanine was still in the foyer until she spoke.

  “No, no. Thank you, though. I can make my own tea, Jeannie,” I said, using my old nickname for her. “Go home, you’ve done more than enough today. Oh, and take those sandwiches and stuff for the boys.”

  That afternoon, my mother had hosted a luncheon for the committee chairs of whatever cause she was heading this year. The kitchen staff had prepared a variety of tea sandwiches, salads, fruit skewers, and bite-sized lettuce wraps. Of course, the women had stuck with the carb-less choices, and our Sub-Zero was now so full of sandwiches that we were in danger of being mistaken for preppers.

  “I think your parents wanted me to stay…,” she trailed off, torn between their wishes and the prospect of getting home at a decent hour.

  “Seriously Jeannie, I’m fine, I promise. I’m just going to be working on my paper. Go spend some time with the boys. Nick and Greg deserve more mom time.”

  Maybe imploring her to spend time with her children was cheating. Nick, the oldest, would be leaving for college in just a few short years, and I knew she worried that all her time catering to my family’s needs meant she was neglecting hers.

  Jeanine crossed the marble checkerboard floor and pulled me in for a quick hug. She’d been working for my family for four years and was well aware of our dysfunction. She felt sorry for me, wanted to dote on me and show motherly affection, since my own mother clearly lacked the instincts. Still, Jeanine only dared to cross these lines when Eleanor Kingsley was off the premises.

  “You are so sweet, my Lark.” She pulled back and held me at arm’s length. “But your parents are my employers—”

  “So am I,” I cut her off with mock sternness. “I am telling you to take those sandwiches, go home, and have a late dinner with the boys. If Eleanor and Phillip Kingsley have a problem with that, they can take it up with me. And I’ll make sure they know that.”

  I wrapped my arms around her for another embrace. Jeanine gave me a tight squeeze, which I returned happily. “Thank you for everything you do, Jeannie. We all appreciate it so much,” I whispered. We both knew it wasn’t entirely true, but I wanted her to know that I appreciated her. “Now, have James call you one of our cars.” Anticipating her protest, I added quickly, “I’m not going anywhere, and I’m sure Francisco is bored.”

  Jeanine hesitated before finally nodding. “You really are the best of both your parents,” she told me.

  I sat in my room for eleven minutes, tensely watching the clock make its slowest progression ever. I planned to wait fifteen minutes—plenty of time for Jeanine and Francisco to leave—but the delay was agonizing. I clutched the sky blue velvet cushion of my armchair, trying to focus on anything besides the numbers that refused to advance.

  It’s fine. Just go, I coached myself. Do it before you lose your nerve.

  I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then sprang to my feet.

  You’ve got this, I thought as I dashed out my bedroom door. My feet were bare, making no sound as I crept down the stairs. No one is home, focus on your goal. Even knowing I was alone, I still glanced around nervously as though someone might be hiding in the shadows.

  When I reached Dad’s study, I paused with my hand on the door handle. You’ve come this far, do not waste this opportunity. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door just wide enough for me to slip inside. Darkness consumed me as soon as the door clicked into place. The silence was unnerving.

  Just breathe. You’ve got this. And remember, you deserve to know the truth.

  Straightening my spine, I turned on my phone’s flashlight app, not taking any chances that Jeanine had forgotten her purse or that the doorman would let in a delivery person with a package too large or too important to be left downstairs. I crept across the carpet on tiptoes, wondering if maybe I was being a tad paranoid.

  There’s a reason Dad is keeping Kingstown a secret, I reminded myself.

  I slid into Dad’s desk chair, sinking into the deep cushion. It was weird, sitting in the power seat. So many life-altering decisions were made from this very chair. Kingsley Diamonds had never held a public offering, so ownership had never been divided or traded. My father held in his hands the lives of every single person who worked for the company.

  One day this will all be yours, I thought.

  Dread coiled in my stomach like slithering serpent, and I thought I might be sick. Even before I was born, Kingsley Diamonds was my destiny. And for so long, I thought I wanted that future
. Not anymore. I didn’t want my father’s throne.

  You are in control of your fate. You are writing your own story. That’s why you need the files.

  I reached for the computer keyboard and entered Dad’s password. For a long moment, I stared at the screen. Once I knew the truth, there was no taking it back. I couldn’t just forget the secret my parents were hiding from me. Blowing out a long breath, I typed “Kingstown” into the search bar and crossed my fingers.

  Results populated the display. I waited impatiently for the computer to finish the search, and then scanned the list for the video files. There was only one. I clicked on the file folder and then on the lone video inside. Instead of an actual video, there was a single frame with a white lettering against a black background. The image ran for twenty-two seconds.

  “You have to be kidding me,” I groaned aloud. “Now what?”

  I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head. The footage is a decade old. Where would Dad store archived videos?

  Or maybe the better question was, where would Dad hide proof of his crimes?

  In his giant burn box, of course.

  But before moving on, I popped a USB from my pocket into one of slots on the side of the monitor and copied all the files from my original search, all the files with even a mention of Kingstown. Just in case.

  The data transfer was going to take a few minutes, so I started the complicated process of accessing Dad’s secret room. I yanked on the handle of the top desk drawer, but it was locked. Weird. I’d never seen Dad use a key to open the drawer, so when had this security measure been implemented?

  The locked drawer was an obstacle, not a road block. I had prepared for very this situation. The locking-picking set was in my back pocket. I grabbed the requisite tools and followed the steps I’d learned from watching an online video. Four minutes and three seconds later, the drawer popped open—not great, but decent for a newbie thief.

  I pulled out the drawer halfway, and then ran my fingers along the piece of wood that was both the underside of the desk and the top of the drawer. The lever was small, easy to miss unless a person knew where to look. Which I did, since I’d watched Dad do this several times. When I pulled the lever, two wall panels behind the desk slid apart, revealing a set of double, steel doors. The first time I’d seen the hidden compartment, I’d thought it was an elevator. But no, these doors led to a room that wasn’t on any blueprints or city records.

  The data transfer was complete. I closed all open windows, deleted my search from the computer’s history, and then replaced the USB inside my pocket. With another deep breath, I turned back to the steel doors. There was no biometric scanner or keypad to enter a passcode. Dad had gone old school with the security. Inset in one of the doors was a small compartment with Rubik’s-style cube that sat on a pressure sensitive panel. Once removed, I would have exactly two minutes to solve the puzzle. If I failed, Dad would receive an alert on his phone. Needless to say, failure wasn’t an option.

  My hand was steady as I reached for the cube. Holographic red numbers appeared over the pressure sensitive panel—the timer, which started running immediately. Closing my eyes, I let muscle memory take over. It was as though my mind and body were disconnected as my fingers twisted and turned the cube’s panels. I reopened my eyes just as the last panel slid into place. Five seconds were left on the timer. I shoved the cube into its compartment. The numbers froze at 0:02 and the doors slid open.

  Am I really doing this?

  I was breaking into my father’s secret room. Even though I’d been planning this tryst for weeks, surreal didn’t begin to describe the way I felt in that moment.

  Do you want to know the truth? Or would you rather keep on the blinders?

  Slowly, I put one foot in front of the other and entered Dad’s hidey hole.

  Shelves lined the back wall, many holding actual video tapes, DVDs, and blue ray discs. A large wall safe occupied the right side of the room, and file drawers the left. Dad was meticulous. He liked things neat and tidy, everything was in chronological order, and then organized alphabetically within each year. This made it easy to locate the timeframe I needed, but just as I started scanning the proper shelf, faint voices filtered through the study door.

  No, no, no, no one is supposed to be here, I thought frantically.

  For a second, I froze, unsure what to do. But then, my instincts took over. I turned off the flashlight app and punched a button on the wall beside the doors, causing them to close. Darkness engulfed me. The air seemed too thin, and I had trouble catching my breath.

  Calm down. Now is not the time to freak out.

  Inside the secret alcove, the silence was deafening. I could no longer hear the voices, but since the room was soundproof, I didn’t know whether the speakers had entered the study.

  Intercom. Find the intercom, I told myself.

  I turned the flashlight app back on—with the doors closed, even sitting at the desk, no one would be able to see the light—and directed the beam at the wall near the doors. I pressed the intercom button, allowing me to hear what was going on in the study. Two sets of footsteps sounded from the other room, and one of the people was definitely wearing heals. Then I heard Dad’s voice.

  “It was only a matter of time, Eleanor. We’ve always known that,” he said, sighing heavily.

  “No, that was not the deal we made,” Mom spat, and I could imagine her standing with her hands on her hips, her icy blue gaze fixed on her husband.

  “No, it’s not. But we knew the risks.” Ice clinked in a glass—Dad making his scotch, most likely.

  It sounded like Mom was tapping her foot, a nervous habit she rarely displayed.

  Whatever they are talking about, it must be serious, I thought.

  “What are we going to do, Phillip?” Mom demanded. “If she finds out what we have done—if anyone finds out what we have done—we need to get out in front of this.”

  There was a long pause before Dad finally answered. “How do you suggest we do that, Eleanor?” His voice was low and even, and it made me shiver. He only used that tone when he was super angry.

  “You were there, Phillip. You heard our options.”

  “Options?” Dad’s laughter held no mirth. “They didn’t offer us options, Eleanor. They offered us their damage control plan.”

  “Call it whatever you like, but I agree with them. We all have a lot to lose if the truth gets out, including our daughter. I for one am willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that does not happen.” Mom was practically shouting. I’d never seen them fight before, not like this anyway. Sure, they disagreed a lot, but losing one’s temper was too middle-class for Eleanor and Phillip Kingsley.

  Dad sighed and when he spoke again he sounded tired. “We won’t lose her, Eleanor. I promise you that.”

  “So then we are in agreement?” Mom asked levelly.

  Eons seemed to pass before Dad mustered a reply. “I suppose so.”

  “I will let them know.” Mom’s heels clicked on the hardwood, the sound becoming duller when she crossed the carpet. I heard the study doors open. “This is for the best, Phillip. You will see. Once it is done, we won’t need to worry so much.”

  Mom left the study, but Dad stayed for another twenty minutes. I leaned against the wall and prayed that he wouldn’t think to check his security logs.

  He has no reason, too, I told myself. But, honestly, being caught inside the secret room didn’t worry me nearly as much as the cryptic conversation I’d just overheard. What truth was so bad that they thought they might lose me?

  Kingstown. The name popped into my head in answer to my own question. They’re worried you’ll find out about Kingstown.

  I needed those files. I needed to know the deal with the Canadian mine. I needed to know what had happened there ten years ago, and why the people that made me were so eager to keep it a secret. Determined, I used the flashlight to scan the shelves again.

  April-June, July-August, September-
December. Where was January-March? Was it a coincidence that those files just so happened to be missing? I did a quick survey of the remaining tapes to see if the footage had been misplaced. No luck. Except…one of the wooden panels about the shelves looked as though it was askew. I grabbed a stepstool from the corner, climbed up, and pressed on the panel. It fell inward with a soft thud. I sucked in a breath before I remembered that no one could hear me inside the soundproof room. Still, I needed to hurry. It was a minor miracle that my parents hadn’t sent out bloodhounds the second they realized I wasn’t in my room.

  Wait, do they know you’re not in your room?

  I shook my head. Family issues would have to wait. Stuffing my hand in the empty space where the panel had been, I felt around the compartment. It was small, about four inches deep and only slightly wider and taller than the panel. My fingers closed around a thin, rectangular object. I pulled out the USB drive. Like the numerous other objects in the secret room, this one was labeled. But it didn’t have a name or year or any other easily decipherable identifier. Nevertheless, my heart sped up—this was it, the missing footage. I was certain. Because the alphanumeric sequence print on the side of the drive was the same one as in the Kingstown file on Dad’s computer.

  A new problem gave me pause. I hadn’t expected Mom and Dad to come home early from the fundraiser, so I’d planned to transfer the videos to my laptop and then replace the originals. All before any one was the wiser.

  It’s fine. You can return the drive once they’re asleep.

  It was a solid option—also, my only option. As I went about fixing the room to hide my infiltration, I kept replaying the conversation I’d overheard earlier. I was positive Mom and Dad had been talking about Kingstown, which meant the Canadian mine was fresh in their thoughts. They were both worried about the truth finding the light of day. Did that mean they might destroy the drive? If so, when?

  Not tonight. Tomorrow at the soonest.

  If they had been intent on getting rid of the evidence tonight, they would have already found me hiding inside the secret room. It was true. I knew that. And yet I couldn’t help thinking about the lack of dust and cobwebs inside the compartment. Someone, Dad most likely, had retrieved the drive recently. Maybe even frequently.