The Heiresses

by Sara Shepard

  Julia lowered the gun. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m sorry,” Danielle said. “But this is coming to an end right now. If you want to kill them, you have to kill me too.”

  Julia’s eyes blazed. The protective, loving look on her face dropped away, and she stared at her daughter with a cold, psychotic glare. “You are one of them. It’s like I don’t even know you,” she said in a dead voice. There was a sharp click as she released the safety latch. “Fine, then. If that’s the way you want it to be.”

  She took a step forward. Danielle, Aster, Corinne, and Rowan crowded together. Aster shut her eyes, her mind swirling with everything she’d learned tonight. Strange, that in her last few minutes of life, all she could think about was how wrong she’d been about her dad and Danielle. She reached for the other girl’s hand, and Danielle took it. Aster gave her a squeeze. I’m sorry, she tried to convey through the touch. I should never have jumped to conclusions. I should have let you explain, trusted in our friendship.

  And then, suddenly, a voice rang out in the darkness. Aster opened her eyes and immediately lifted a hand to shield them. Headlights blinded her, and tires screeched at the end of the bridge.

  “Drop your weapon!” a man screamed, jumping from the SUV and advancing toward Julia. An agent from another SUV stepped forward as well, his gun pointed at Julia’s head. Katherine Foley appeared from the front seat and ran toward the girls. She was wearing a bulletproof vest, and her eyes were bright. “Don’t move!” she screamed at Julia.

  Julia looked right and left, her eyes rolling wildly. She squeezed the gun in her hands, showing no sign of dropping it. She aimed it at the agents.

  “Grab her!” one of the officers screamed.

  “Mom!” Danielle yelled, her voice ragged.

  Suddenly Julia rushed over to the edge of the bridge. None of the Saybrook women put out a hand to stop her. She climbed up onto the railing, her bright red hair blowing in the breeze. She still held tight to the gun, which gleamed in the bright headlights.

  “Drop your weapon!” the agents bellowed again. “Hands up, or we’ll fire!”

  But Julia just grinned. And then a gunshot rang out.

  Aster screamed and ducked her head. The noise reverberated through the air, piercing her eardrums. A second scream sounded from the edge of the bridge, and when Aster looked over, Julia’s eyes were wide and stunned.

  “No!” Danielle wailed, sinking to her knees.

  Julia spun halfway around. Aster leaned forward, trying to see if the bullet had hit her. But before she could, Julia’s legs went slack. A strange, mournful expression crossed her features.

  “Good-bye,” she said softly. And then she turned, opened her arms, and fell back into the water.

  31

  The hospital doors swished open, bringing with them the astringent scent of cleaning products. Rowan hurried across the marble lobby, ducking around patients in wheelchairs and harried doctors in mint scrubs. A gift shop bearing racks of candy, stuffed animals, and trashy magazines was on her left. The cover of nearly every tabloid and newspaper in the window bore pictures of Rowan, Corinne, and Aster shortly after their incident with Julia on the bridge. “The Curse Wears Kors,” one headline screamed. Below it was that grainy image of Julia Gilchrist posing as Danielle in that color-block dress the morning she killed Poppy. What most of the papers glommed on to was the fact that Julia was still missing. The authorities had dredged the sound and found nothing. It had been so dark, and it had all happened so fast, no one knew whether the bullet had hit her.

  Rowan turned away and hurried to the elevator bank, riding it to the neurological intensive care unit on the fourth floor. The last two days had been a whirlwind—first the police questioning, then the concerned hugs from family members, and then meeting with Deanna to decide how to spin the damaging story. In one night, everything the Saybrooks had worked so hard to create had crumbled, their dark secrets finally exposed.

  The family’s lawyers had been furious that the cousins hadn’t consulted them before speaking with the FBI. As a lawyer, they said, Rowan should have known better than to implicate Mason. Rowan loved her uncle, but it was time for him to come clean. His affair had given new life to the curse, and too many people had already paid the price for his deceit. They were lucky Foley had discovered Julia exactly when she did—otherwise Rowan, Corinne, Aster, and maybe even Danielle would be dead too.

  Rowan had spoken to Foley shortly after their rescue. Foley had explained that the headlights at the end of the driveway that night had been hers; Julia had been on her radar, and she’d wanted to speak to Danielle about whether her mother had access to her Saybrook’s keycard. But when she got there, only Danielle’s father was home.

  “He said that Danielle and Julia had just left with you girls. And so I followed the car, and called for backup.”

  Foley had also apologized for lying to Rowan and the others for leaving out that she’d known Poppy, catered that party, and even had a brief fling with Steven Barnett. “My superiors knew,” Foley explained. “But I didn’t think it was necessary for you to.”

  “Did you ever think Poppy killed Steven?” Rowan had asked.

  Foley shook her head. “It never sounded right. But I looked into it and discovered what really happened. That’s what led me to Mason . . . and then to Julia.”

  Apparently Mason had paid off the coroner to falsify the autopsy results after Steven’s death, reporting that his blood-alcohol level had been higher than it really was. All to make sure no one knew the real reason Steven died.

  But Rowan hadn’t been able to get Foley to admit why she’d visited Poppy the morning she’d died. An ongoing business matter, was all she said. “Was it always under secret cover?” Rowan asked, a thought striking her. “Did you ever go to the Mandarin Oriental?” Foley just cocked her head noncommittally, but Rowan’s mind had whirled, suddenly realizing that Poppy might not have been cheating on James after all. But what had she been doing?

  Now Rowan pushed through a door marked 414, a private room that overlooked Manhattan. With Julia still unaccounted for, Natasha had been secretly moved to NYU from Beth Israel. Only the family knew about it; even the press hadn’t gotten wind yet. If anyone found out, Natasha’s family would move her again. Anything to keep her hidden and safe, especially now that she was awake. Just last night, the doctors had called with the good news.

  Rowan expected Natasha to be propped up on the pillows, reading a magazine, but she was asleep, and a tangle of tubes and wires still snaked into her veins. Her chest rose and fell with each breath. Her eyelids fluttered ever so slightly, and then, beautifully, they opened. The trademark Saybrook-blue eyes stared back at Rowan.

  Deep breath, Rowan thought. Before the accident, she’d suspected Natasha of killing Poppy. Their last conversation hadn’t exactly been pleasant. But her cousin just smiled sheepishly. “Hi,” she said in a gravelly voice.

  “How are you feeling?” Rowan asked tentatively.

  Natasha slowly lifted her IV-clad hand to her cheek. “Not too bad.” She coughed loudly. “My parents were here before. They told me what happened. And they told me about Julia.” She lowered her eyes.

  Rowan nodded. “It’s pretty unthinkable, isn’t it?”

  Natasha’s head bobbed weakly. “I can’t believe it.”

  Rowan couldn’t, either. Julia Gilchrist. But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. She had access as the caretaker, as well as through Danielle’s job—and she had true motive.

  It was still unclear how much havoc Julia had wreaked. Had she recovered the sex tape from Rowan’s computer and stolen Corinne’s journal? A picture of Julia had been handed out to the staff in all of the Saybrook’s buildings, the ski resort where Penelope had been hurt, and the private airport Poppy’s parents had flown from when their plane exploded. They were still waiting to hear back from most locations, but a concierge at the Four Seasons in Aspen had called to report that s
he’d remembered seeing a striking red-haired woman at the lodge when the accident occurred. There was no record of Julia staying there, but she might have registered under a false name.

  The single-mindedness of it was what chilled Rowan the most. Julia had persevered for five long years after killing Steven. What would she have done next if Foley hadn’t connected the dots? Would Rowan and the others be dead now?

  “Did they find Julia yet?” Natasha croaked.

  Rowan shook her head. “No.” She awkwardly patted Natasha’s leg. “You shouldn’t worry about it, though. You need to concentrate on getting well.”

  The door creaked, and Rowan looked up. Corinne and Aster pushed into the room, holding steaming cups of coffee. Both of them gave Natasha tentative, awkward hugs.

  Rowan cleared her throat. “Natasha knows about Julia.”

  Natasha nodded. “It’s crazy.”

  Aster crossed her legs. “This might be a good time to . . . you know. Ask the other thing?”

  Corinne frowned. “She just woke up,” she whispered. “It’s too soon.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know,” Rowan said tentatively.

  “Um, hello?” Natasha’s voice floated from the bed. “I’m right here. Whatever you have to ask, just ask it.”

  Everyone clamped their mouths shut. Rowan glanced at the others. Corinne raised her eyebrows, then gave a nod. Aster nodded too. Taking a breath, Rowan said, “Apparently there’s a family secret. Mason knows it—and so did Steven Barnett.”

  “Julia said it was something that could have destroyed the family,” Aster added. “You know what it is, don’t you?”

  Natasha nodded, her face full of uncertainty. She looked down at her hands. “Yes.”

  An alarm beeped in a hall, and a nurse was paged. Rowan set her coffee cup on the small table next to Natasha’s bed. “Tell us. I don’t care how devastating it is. We’re family; we can get through it.”

  Corinne touched her hand and nodded.

  Natasha was silent for a long time. Rowan worried they’d pushed her too hard, but then Natasha licked her dry lips. “Alfred’s story of how the business started is a lie.”

  “What?” Rowan whispered, her heart beating fast.

  Natasha moved her head to the side. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Yes,” they all said in unison.

  Natasha took a breath. “After the war, Papa and Harold Browne, his friend from the war? Well they were in a battalion that sorted through plunder the Nazis had stored in the Musée du Jeu de Paume in Paris. They were supposed to take everything to a repository in Munich so the items could be cataloged and returned to their rightful owners, but I guess Papa and Harold found a few things they wanted to keep for themselves.”

  “Wait, what?” Rowan blurted. “You’re saying the diamonds he brought back were stolen?”

  Natasha nodded. “From families sent to concentration camps.”

  Rowan frowned. “But diamonds can be traced—especially valuable ones. He wouldn’t have taken that risk.”

  “He was an amazing cutter, remember? He simply cut them to look different.”

  “What about the yellow stone?” Aster asked. “The Corona?”

  “It was one of many, but that was the crown jewel. I guess he and Harold had a pact; they were going to take their secrets to the grave.”

  Rowan felt dizzy. “I think I only met Harold once. Maybe.” When she was very young, she remembered her grandfather having drinks with a man his age on the patio in Meriweather. They’d talked about golf and their children, she was pretty sure.

  “Well, apparently Harold had a change of heart about six years ago,” Natasha went on. “His son contacted Mason and Alfred, saying it was Harold’s dying wish to go public and right their wrongs. They refused, of course, and soon Harold died, but the son just wouldn’t go away. They ended up paying him off, and making a large donation to the Holocaust Survivors’ Foundation.”

  Aster’s eyes widened. “How do you know all this?”

  Natasha adjusted the pillow behind her head and sighed. “Mason went to my mom for help because he couldn’t liquidate his company shares fast enough to pay off Browne’s son—he needed my mom’s approval. They had a huge argument in my father’s study one night that I overheard. My mom begged me not to tell.”

  “Is that why you disinherited yourself?” Rowan asked.

  Natasha nodded. “That money isn’t ours, not really. I couldn’t live with that on my conscience.”

  Corinne touched Aster’s hand. “You said you found an e-mail thread between Poppy and Dad where he was trying to tell Poppy to keep quiet about something.”

  “That’s right.” Aster regarded Natasha. “Did Poppy know?”

  “I think so,” Natasha answered. “I thought you all knew, honestly, and were just keeping quiet. But about a year ago Poppy came to me and said, ‘I know why you’re so upset with the family.’ It turned out she’d just discovered the secret. She was meeting with Agent Foley—she was helping to track down the families Saybrook’s had stolen from and figure out a way to pay reparations.”

  Rowan nodded, letting it sink in. So there it was. The reason why Foley and Poppy were meeting. Poppy wasn’t having an affair; she was trying to right an old wrong. She placed a hand on her stomach, sickened that she’d assumed the worst about her cousin.

  She turned and watched as Corinne stared at her diamond bracelet, looking as though she wanted to take it off. Rowan recognized it: Alfred had given all the cousins matching ones years ago.

  Their sweet grandfather. Rowan could still recall the feel of his leathery hand on hers. She pictured following his tall, straight back down the aisles of the Meriweather flea market, excited at the prospect of finding another Corona Diamond like he’d found in Paris.

  But there hadn’t been a flea market in Paris, had there? It was a childish lie, and they had been fools to believe it.

  “I wonder if Steven knew because he was Alfred’s protégé,” Corinne mused.

  “Maybe,” Aster said, sinking into a chair next to Natasha’s bed. “And if Julia is telling the truth, Steven was going to go public the night he was killed.”

  “Do you think that’s why Mason promoted Poppy instead of Steven?” Rowan mused.

  Natasha nodded. “It sounds as if Steven was questioning the liquidation of the stocks. They were making moves to fire him and needed to promote someone in his place.”

  “But Steven still managed to find out,” Aster said. “And he was out for revenge for having been passed over.”

  Rowan paused to let this sink in. All this time, they’d all thought Poppy was promoted to president over Steven because she really and truly deserved it. That wasn’t exactly the case. Rowan wondered if Poppy had known that all along. Maybe not why, exactly, but that she was a replacement, a quick fill to cover something up. Jesus. James’s infidelity, the true reason why she got her job—there was probably so much that Poppy felt insecure about. Rowan would have never guessed.

  Corinne looked at Natasha. “I can’t believe you’ve had to carry this burden all these years.”

  Natasha slowly raised her tube-addled hand to push a stray hair from her face. “My mother begged me never to speak of it. She hated that she knew, let alone me.”

  “We thought you killed Poppy,” Aster blurted. “You were acting so strange before the accident, refusing to meet with Foley . . .”

  Natasha shrugged, looking shamefaced. “I just didn’t see the point. She already knew about the diamonds, and I didn’t have anything else to add. It was stupid of me.”

  “What are we going to do, you guys?” Aster asked. “Now we know. We can’t just keep this to ourselves. My dad clearly knows—who else? And don’t you think we should finish what Poppy started? Make amends, somehow?”

  “Of course Dad knows,” Corinne said bitterly.

  “So do my parents,” Natasha reminded her.

  That was hard to swallow. Rowan shut her eyes and pictured N
atasha’s parents, landing on the memory of them hovering over baby Briony right after she’d been born. Poppy’s parents had been gone by then, but they’d taken over the role as grandparents, taking late-night shifts, walking Briony up and down the halls to soothe her crying, delighting in her first smiles and laughs. They were so . . . sweet. Tender. All the while hiding a hideous secret and doing nothing about it.

  Rowan looked at her cousins. Their family had always been surrounded by tragedy, and maybe they’d brought it on themselves. They wanted too much and gave back too little. They were like Icarus, flying too close to the sun and getting scorched: it was all their own damn fault.

  “If it were up to me, I would tell,” Corinne said. “The company will recover, or it won’t. And if it doesn’t, maybe we deserve it.”

  Rowan nodded, and then Aster and Natasha did too.

  “I think,” Rowan began slowly, “that we’ve all assumed too much over the years. But that stops now. We’re family, and it’s time we start acting like it. We have each other, and the truth, no matter how much it hurts.”

  Aster nodded, and Corinne took Natasha’s hand. As Rowan looked around at her cousins, she felt buoyed again. It had taken an unthinkable tragedy and a loss of one of their own, but a new bond had formed between them. And that gave Rowan comfort and strength.

  Corinne leaned forward, pulled four plastic cups from a stack on Natasha’s little tray, and poured each of them a cup of ice water. “I think we should have a toast,” she said. “To us. And to family.”

  Rowan raised her glass, and Aster followed. An impish smile appeared on Natasha’s face. “Does this mean I can force you guys to watch my figure-skating performances again?”

  “No,” they all blurted at once, and Rowan smiled at the memory. Just like that, it seemed as if they had their old cousin back again—the cute, sprightly, utterly infectious Natasha. When Rowan looked at her again, Natasha was beaming, her expression placid and finally relaxed. Rowan had always known the expression “Weighed down by a secret,” but she had never truly believed it until right now. Natasha seemed literally lighter and freer, as if she could finally live her life without lies binding her tight.