Desire & Blood - The Thorne Siblings

22. 97 Messages

Theresa sat on the edge of my sofa as if afraid of being contaminated by my poverty. She held a glass of whiskey in her hands.

I was in a chair opposite, nursing a drink of my own.

She took a sip and twisted her mouth. "Father wanted to keep this... matter in the family. So, when he was ill, he sent me, and not someone from TCorp, to get more details about the expenses from you. That's why I came to see you that day. Afterwards, I told him what I had learned from you. He said he'd discuss it with Thierry.

"I was out that night, and when I returned, police cars and an ambulance were parked in our driveway... Father was dead..." She drank some more. "He had fallen down the grand stair. That's a really long stair ascending from the hall all the way up to the second floor."

I glowered at her, considering to tell her that I knew what a grand staircase is—even though my apartment didn't have one.

But she didn't wait for me to object and continued. "Thierry said he was in his room when he heard a rumbling noise and a yell. He went to investigate and found father at the bottom of the stairs... dead." She took a sip of her drink. Her fingers were white from clasping the glass.

"But, you know...," she continued, "even though father had a cold, he wasn't that weak. Also, he never used that staircase. We have an elevator, or he took the smaller stairs at the back of the house... they have better handrails." She took another sip, then she sat still like a toy whose batteries were low.

"So, you're saying it was..." The words refused to form on my lips, reluctant to leave the world of speculation and enter my mundane apartment. Was she really implying that it was more than just an accident? Was this real? Theresa Thorne sitting on my tired, old sofa telling me a story of murder?

I sniffed the liquid in my glass—an oaky scent. I wasn't much into drinks, and the whiskey bottle had accumulated dust for years. But this seemed like a good time to give it a try.

The bite of the stuff was hot and unruly as it made its way down to my stomach.

She stared at her hands. "I think it was Thierry. He killed him. After father confronted him about the expenses."

"But..." What was I supposed to say at this point? "Who would do that... kill their own father for money?"

"Thierry's not what... people think he is. He's violent and irascible, believe me. And he and father... they weren't on good terms. Dad holds a majority of the shares of TCorp. He could have retired and made him his successor. Thierry had urged him to do so... again and again. But dad had refused, afraid that Thierry would run the company into the ground."

She took a breath. "After the police had left, I confronted Thierry. I accused him of... killing our father. Told him that I knew he used TCorp money for his yacht. I also told him that dad had asked me to get the details from you. He answered that he had nothing to do with our dad's death, and that father had already told him of my getting information from you. But once he had heard the full story, dad had agreed that the expenses were in order." She looked up at me. "He called you an overeager, meddling clerk trying to impress the old man."

"Great, that's how I got fired. Thanks."

She sat in silence, her eyes still on her drink. She probably didn't care—what was a job to her?

I gulped down some more of the fiery liquid and waited for anger to pour into me, eager for its adrenaline to help me face this situation. Yet I got nothing but a warm buzz rising from my intestines up into my confused brain.

Closing my eyes, I wished Theresa to go away, taking her story of patricide with her. I had enough problems of my own, I didn't need hers. She had no business to be here, and I had no role to play in any Thorne family twist. I opened my eyes again—she still was on my sofa.