Blood Money (1) | The Inheritance Games

LIV. message in a bottle

"Message in a bottle is all I can do, standing here, hoping it gets to you."

Returning to the hotel room in a rushed panic, I clutch the box and barely manage to get the words out through deep breaths. "Help me.. box.. got Maja." I choke on the words, having just ran from the taxi the whole flight of stairs because the elevator was taking so long. 

"She's in there?" Jameson smirks teasingly at the small box in my clutch. Grayson, instead, offers up a bottle of water which I gratefully accept. 

"I need to solve this or I can't get Maja back." I sigh, slicking my hair off my face with sweat. 

Jameson's eyebrows twitch. "What do you mean? Where is she?" He tenses, stepping forward as all humour drains from his face. 

"The old man — he left me a mystery too. This box from some random warehouse is the next clue. The guys that work there want a cut of whatever's in it. They wouldn't let me leave without compensation." I recap. 

Jameson's eyes bulge wildly. "We need to open this to get her back." I state, nodding for him to come help as I place it down on the hotel's coffee table. 

"Spencer!" My brother snaps. "You left her?" He demands, advancing on me as if trying to intimidate me, I just glare at him. "She said it was fine." I shrug. 

"If you had a gun to my head and I said you could shoot me, would you?" He scoffs, then looks at me for a moment, "Do not answer that question you little psycho." He points at me firmly. 

"They could do things to her! Did you not think about that? They could hurt her!" He snaps. "Then we better hurry up with this box." I smile innocently. 

He groans, head in his hands, looking seconds away from throttling me. "Give me it." He growls, I toss it his way. 

Grayson and him spend at least 20 minutes working on it, using all their usual tricks to guess. They both look focused the way they always get when the old man leaves them puzzles. That's when it clicks. This isn't their puzzle. The old man didn't leave this for them. 

"Give it to me." I order, Jameson flicks his eyes at me begrudgingly, not looking particularly thrilled about any of this. Grayson willingly hands me the box, leaning back in his chair and focusing on the way my hands work at it. 

"How long have you been following this trail?" Jameson asks, arms folded as he attempts to call Maja yet again. 

"Since sugar-packet-gate." I mumble teasingly under my breath as I scan the code box. 

"And you've been successful?" He queries. "Thus far, brother." I sigh, fiddling around. 

He stated once before I don't look outside the box, I dissect

Whilst your brothers found their answers by searching outside the box, you my dear took satisfaction in exploring the box inside out until you found something greater. 

That's what my Grandfather had wrote in his letter to me. Was the box metaphor less of a metaphor than I thought and actually just a clue?

I flip the box, trailing a finger over the intricate patterns. I close my eyes and envision the feeling rather than looking at it. 

"She's lost it. We're breaking this open right?" Jameson asks Grayson, who simply raises a hand in statement, silently saying wait.

It feels like a prescription bottle, like bumpy braille patterns. 

I raise a brow curiously, opening my eyes and inspecting the details closely. "Spence." Jameson tries to grasp my attention. 

"It's braille." I decide. They glance between each other then to me. "Google braille numbers." I instruct. They hesitate, but do as I say regardless. 

Not even 15 minutes later I have a list of twenty numbers wrote on a napkin with eyeliner. 

"Try it then." Jameson urges, I scowl at him then begin placing the code in with the help of Grayson. It doesn't work for a moment and I contemplate walking onto the balcony and jumping, but the rusty lock clicks off. 

I begin to pry it open, but Jameson snatches it, dropping the contexts out recklessly and stuffing $500 from his pocket inside. 

The small note that fell out of the box slips into my lap. I lunge to my feet, stuffing it down my pocket and following Jameson in his strides out of the room. 

"I'm getting her back. I'll get the guys $500 so they don't think we've conned them." He grumbles begrudgingly, marching his way out to the car waiting for us. 

I watch as he ferociously checks the time every few minutes, anxiously bouncing his leg up and down the whole journey.