Lies Twist The Way We Think

Chapter 22 - The Red Will

Hey lovely people,
I'm sorry it took so long but I've been quite ill for weeks, turns out I have corona. I also have an exam on Friday, but I'm just gonna wing it. My head hurts so I apologise if this isn't the best chapter. I promise the pace picks up soon as I have still some things to incorporate before we fully dive into the plot. If you have any things you want to mention, please let me know!
Thank you for all your comments and votes. Here's some life advice for you in return:
Drink your tea. Read your books. Hug your friends a little longer, and tell your family you love them.

C. R. D. - M. L. T.

Zara doesn't speak immediately once the two of us are alone. I decide that if she's not going to break the silence, I will. "You talked to the lawyers." That is the obvious explanation for why she's here.

I look around. These are her rooms. There's clothes everywhere, but it somehow doesn't look messy. She's turned her bedroom into a wardrobe.

"I did." Zara offers no apologies, and I'm glad she doesn't. I don't want apologies. I want answers. "And now I'm talking to you. I'm sure you can forgive me for not doing so sooner. As you can imagine, this has all come as a bit of a shock."

I scoff and cut through the niceties. "You held a press conference strongly suggesting that your father was senile and that I'm under investigation by the authorities for elder abuse."

Zara perches at the end of an antique desk—one of the few surfaces in the room not covered with her accessories or clothes. "Yes, well, you can thank your legal team for not making certain realities apparent sooner."

"If I get nothing, you get nothing." I'm not going to let her come in here and dance around the truth. "Is there anything else?"

"I'm not sure how much Alisa has told you, but in addition to my father's personal assets, you have also inherited control of the family's foundation." Zara takes measure of my cold expression before continuing. "It's one of the largest private charitable foundations in the country. We give away upward of a hundred million dollars a year."

A hundred million dollars. Fucking hell. A hundred million dollars a year in interest—and she is just talking about the foundation, not Tobias Hawthorne's personal fortune. I quickly run the math in my head. Even if taxes take half of the estate, and I only average a four-percent yield—I'll still be making nearly a billion dollars a year. Doing nothing. That's just wrong.

"Who does the foundation give its money to?" I ask.

Zara pushes off the desk and begins pacing the length of the room. "The Hawthorne Foundation invests in children and families, health initiatives, scientific advancement, community building, and the arts."

Under those headings, I can support nearly anything. I could change the world.

"I've spent my entire adult life running the foundation." Zara's lips pull tight across her teeth. "There are organizations that rely on our support. If you intend to exert yourself, there's a right way and a wrong way to do that." She stops right in front of me. "You need me, Camille. As much as I'd like to wash my hands of all of this, I've worked too long and too hard to see that work undone."

I listen to what she was saying—and what she isn't. "Does the foundation pay you?" I ask, and I smile at every second the answer takes.

"I draw a salary commensurate with the skills I bring."

"Seems like you need me more than I need you," I tell her. But as satisfying as it would be to tell her that her services will no longer be needed, I'm not that impulsive. "I want to be involved," I say next. "And not just for show. I want to make decisions."