Prodigal Son

Chapter Four - Part 1

Thank you, Marcus," Felicity said accepting a glass of white wine from the Queen family butler, a man that looked like he was cast just for the part. "Am I the first one here?"

"No, Miss. Miss Thea is waiting by the pool with Mr. Merlyn. Mrs. Queen is in her study handling an unexpected matter," he informed her as he led her through the formal front sitting room, beyond the adjoining living area, past the parlor, and to the patio. It was a sprawling house. As big as a mini castle. Felicity glanced back the way toward Moira's study.

"It is something for Queen Consolidated?" she asked, wondering if she should offer her help.

"She didn't say. Please, she will join you shortly." He left her in front of the open French doors leading outside.

She paused and took quick stock of what she was wearing, smoothing the red, sleeveless sheath she'd donned, tugging the hem down just a little. Normally, she dressed a bit more conservatively during command engagements at the Queen Mansion, but today, she needed the boost of confidence the pop of color brought. She'd spent extra time on the artfully casual twist she'd worn her hair up in for the same reason.

Her mother always said looking your best was the best defense. Growing up, she and her mother clashed constantly about what that meant but some form of the lesson stuck and so tonight she made sure all the armor was in place. Not that she was going into battle, but she always felt the country mouse or—more accurately—the poor relation during these dinners. That on top of her fraying nerves after not having heard from Oliver since he'd rushed from of her apartment meant bringing out all the stops.

She discretely checked her phone for messages one final time and then turned the ringer off, returning it to her clutch. Moira was adamant. No phones at dinner. Normally, she didn't mind the break from technology, but today, once again, she found herself checking her phone every two minutes like some lovesick teenager. Which, she clearly was not.

She'd worry Oliver had left town if she hadn't pinged his phone to a local motel just outside of Starling City limits. Ok, maybe Curtis had a point about it being her go-to move. But she'd been concerned. Oliver had been more upset than he wanted to admit when he left. She'd probably told him too much, too fast.

Once the really tricky stuff started coming out, she'd been so glad to spill the truth and abdicate sole responsibility, she hadn't stopped to consider if he'd want the whole truth. She still felt Moira couldn't be responsible for all the terrible things Oliver suddenly seemed afraid she might be, but there was no denying some kind of connection. To get to the bottom of this mystery, Felicity had to at least leave open the possibility of a worst case scenario. She also had to face the possibility that Oliver might walk away from everything she had told him. How do you ask someone to risk facing a truth more horrible than the lie?

What would she do if Oliver asked her to walk away from the mystery as Walter had? It was Oliver's father. Oliver's mother. If he made the call to let sleeping dogs lie, could she? She blew out a deep breath. Would she have any choice? She'd reached an impasse on what she could dig up with her computer. Part of the reason for bringing Oliver home was because he could ask questions and expect to get answers possibly no one else could. But if he wasn't willing to ask the questions...

Shaking off what she couldn't control right now, she took a small sip of her wine–moderation was important; it was going to be a long evening–and stepped out to look for Thea and Tommy on the patio. She snorted softly to herself. Growing up in Las Vegas, she'd been lucky when the patio was a cement slab in the backyard. Even a backyard had been extremely rare. However, at Queen Mansion, the "patio" included all three acres of structured gardens, paths, terraces and even a few greenhouses before the grounds transitioned into a vast manicured lawn surrounded by the woods.