Chapter 5: Inspection

I opened the door in my socks and found four men with flashlights.

Behind me the room was empty and the bed was still dented.

I never heard Ambrose go.

"The sensors tripped in this cottage," the nearest man said.

"The windows cracked," I said. "You should fix them."

The flashlight swung over my face, then over my blouse, which was on inside out.

"Is anyone in here with you?"

"Just me and my terrible taste in blazers."

He did not laugh.

He sniffed the air, and I realized the room smelled of rain.

"Cold in here," he said.

"The heating is old," I said. "File a report."

They left.

I stood in the dark and pressed the back of my hand to my mouth, and it was still burning.

In the morning there was a man in the front hall with a silver rod.

I knew because I walked straight into the smell of him, old cigarettes and cologne.

It was nine o'clock, and I had a clipboard.

I had made the clipboard myself at six, out of a breakfast tray and sticky notes.

A clipboard makes people think you're in charge.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Trust handler," said a rough voice. "Quarterly assessment of the younger heir."

"Jasper?"

"If that's the one with the eyes."

"He has sunglasses."

"Yes," said the handler. "That's one way to put it."

Jasper stood against the wall at the end of the hall, a small bright smear in his glittering jacket.

His hands were shaking so hard the sparkles rattled.

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