The Trust_ A Secret Society Novel Part 22

"Only for you, Dad. It's only a disappointment for you."

Nick got up, taking his laptop with him.

"We want it to happen in the next twenty-four hours," Nick said. "If it doesn't, we will send out the film. Electronically as well as via courier. It will be in the news by this time tomorrow if you don't give us an answer."

"Will you leave a copy of the DVD?" Parker said. "How will I prove to them that this needs to be done?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way," Nick said.

He exited the town house, leaving his father behind. The first thing he wanted to do was to call Phoebe, to tell her that they had finally won, that they would be released. It was everything he knew she wanted.

He had left her a few messages over the past several days, but none of them were returned. He figured she was probably still angry with him over their fight, but he hoped that his actions today would make things right.

He called her, but it went to voice mail. He left her a short message to call him, and texted her as well with a simple note: THINGS HAVE CHANGED.

Chapter Fifty-Six.

On the third day of spring break, Phoebe was on an airplane headed for Los Angeles. She had put on her iPod and was trying to zone out, in the hopes that being a few thousand miles away from New York would solve some of her problems.

It had all started about a week earlier, after she had returned home from the Chilton c.o.c.ktail party. Her mother had announced that she and Daniel were getting engaged. The two of them were drinking champagne in the living room, and they invited her to join them, but Phoebe had refused. Instead, she ran upstairs and locked her door. She was sensing the crazy feelings coming back-the panicked, suffocating emotions she had experienced last fall when the Society had started to close in on her. It wasn't only about Daniel. It was the art theft thing and the way Nick had handled it. Did her boyfriend not have any courage at all? When he had justified it to her, he sounded just as bad as his grandfather, the cowardly art thief. Nothing that any of them had done in the past few months-nearly all of which had been spearheaded by Nick-had gotten them any closer to getting out of the Society. He was as bad as the Elders: a player in an elaborate game set up for their own amus.e.m.e.nt.

A few days later, when the feelings hadn't abated, she booked herself a ticket for Los Angeles.

Now, having boarded the plane at JFK, almost no one knew where she was going. Not Nick, not her mother, not Daniel. Not even her father, whom she would be visiting.

The only person who knew where she was going was Lauren. Her friend hadn't encouraged her to go, but she had promised Phoebe she could keep a secret.

Nick had left her multiple messages, but Phoebe hadn't returned them. She loved Nick-for his humor, for his handsome smile, for his worldly perspective-but she had finally admitted to herself that perhaps they weren't meant to be together. Nick Bell, the s.h.i.+ny new boy she had met last fall, hadn't lived up to everything she had expected of him.

Phoebe checked the return address on the last letter her father had sent her, hoping it was still correct. It was an address in the Hollywood Hills, a desirable location. She was looking forward to the quiet, to time with her father, to walking the winding roads in his neighborhood, to hanging out by the pool, to immersing herself in a novel. Far away from everything in New York. As the plane was starting down the runway and everyone was asked to turn off their phones, a text message came through from Nick, along with a voice mail. She didn't bother listening to the voice mail, but she read the text: THINGS HAVE CHANGED.

She doubted it.

Phoebe's plane touched down in Los Angeles, waking her from a restless sleep, her neck stiff and sore. She wished everything that had happened was merely a bad dream, but she knew it wasn't.

During the cab ride from the airport, she was grateful that she had packed sungla.s.ses in her carry-on, for the Southern California light was blinding. It wasn't particularly warm, as it was only March, and the West Coast wasn't ever as warm in the spring as people thought it was, but the suns.h.i.+ne still felt good on her face.

Her cab pulled up at the house and she paid the driver. She buzzed the gate and waited for an answer. Finally she was let in by a housekeeper, who helped her with her rolling suitcase.

The house was stark and white, a modernist dream on a hill. She had never been there before, as her father had bought it after she and her mother had moved to New York. There was a Warhol Jackie Jackie in the entryway. Her father must have been doing well. in the entryway. Her father must have been doing well.

Phoebe's dad, Preston Dowling, came sauntering into the main foyer. He was wearing a sweater and jeans and looked like he had been working from home.

"Phoebe, it's so good to see you!" He gave her a hug. "I had no idea-are you okay? You don't look-"

"I know," she said. "I don't really look my best." She knew her hair was stringy, and that all the stress had been expressing itself in her body: she was breaking out, and she looked pale, with dark circles under her eyes.

"What's going on, honey?" He finally let go of her, and she realized she was about to start crying.

"Dad, I want to leave Chadwick," she said. "I want to move back to Los Angeles and live with you."

Chapter Fifty-Seven.

Phoebe's departure for Los Angeles had hit Lauren hard. While she knew there were other factors, she feared that her flippant comment at the Chilton c.o.c.ktail party had encouraged Phoebe to leave town. Lauren kept playing that conversation over and over in her mind, wis.h.i.+ng she could somehow change it. But no matter what she said to her friend, Phoebe was certain that a break from New York was what she needed.

And maybe the trip would be good for her. Lauren really didn't know what was best for her friend.

When spring break started, Lauren's little sister, Allison, had returned home from boarding school in Connecticut, filled with stories about school that she wanted to tell her older sister. When Lauren let her know that she would be leaving for Paris in just under week, Allison didn't hide her disappointment.

It was only then that Lauren realized how little time she had spent with her family lately. Her mother, Diana, had been working overtime on the Chilton apartment project. Lauren wondered if they would miss some of the springtime rituals they had enjoyed in years past: taking walks down Park Avenue and admiring the first tulip blooms, strolling through Central Park and watching the first boats go out on the freshly thawed pond.

A day after her sister arrived home, Lauren took the subway down to Giroux New York. Sebastian was on the sales floor and had just finished conferring with Sabrina about a floor display.

"Can I talk to you?" Lauren asked. Her mouth had gone dry. She and Sebastian had become so familiar in recent months, and now he already felt like a stranger.

"Of course," he said. "Come with me. How's my favorite designer? Are you packing for Paris?"

Lauren took a deep breath. His charm was making this difficult. "Sebastian," she finally said, "I can't go on the trip."

"No-Lauren! You must! You'd be missing such an opportunity."

"I understand that," Lauren said calmly. "I just-"

They entered his office, and she sat down. Sebastian looked at her sternly over his desk that was strewn with papers and sketches.

"The Colette people will be so disappointed. Can I ask why? Did something happen?"

"Sort of," she said. "I just feel like I need to focus on my schoolwork." It was a weak excuse, but she didn't know how to voice her real feelings.

"But, Lauren, my dear, you're already on break," Sebastian said. "What kind of schoolwork would you possibly have?"

"It's not only that. I need to start feeling like a real person again," Lauren said. "People my age don't fly to Paris to launch a jewelry line. I don't need all the stress in my life. I thought that I wanted it, but I don't. I know that I can do it, and I have the rest of my life to try, but I'm never going to get this time back again."

"Lauren, you're losing out on a tremendous chance. Don't you realize what other people would give to be able to do this?"

"Yes," Lauren said, nodding. "I do." That was exactly the point: she knew what she had needed to give up.

"The buyers at Colette were so pleased with your designs. But I can't guarantee that they'll be so happy if they know that you can't attend the unveiling."

"I guess that's a risk I'm going to have to take," Lauren said. "I'll pay for the airline ticket, if it's not refundable. It's the right thing to do." She thought about how Thad wouldn't be able to go, either. But he would understand. As long as she was tied up with Giroux New York and with Sebastian, she would be connected to the Society. As much as she tried to pretend that wasn't the case, she couldn't deny it.

"It's not about money!" Sebastian said. "It's about the experience. What about the rest of the line?"

"That's another thing," Lauren said. "I love doing the line. I really do. But I need to take a break. The work doesn't feel original anymore, not to me. It's inspired by earlier pieces, tweaked with my own touches. That may sell because people like it, but that's not what I want to be doing."

Sebastian was silent for a moment. "Well, this is certainly unexpected. I had no idea. I don't really have a choice except to drop the line."

Lauren nodded. "I understand."

Sebastian buzzed Sabrina on the intercom, asking her to come to his office.

"Lauren, we're going to have to ask you to clear out your office," he said. "We'll have a town car waiting. I'll be in touch with our legal team tomorrow so that we can sever the relations.h.i.+p."

"Thank you, Sebastian," she said.

An hour later, she walked out of the building on 14th Street, followed by two security guards carrying boxes filled with her sketches, notebooks, and personal effects.

In the fas.h.i.+on world, she may have lost everything, but at that moment, she had never felt more free.

Chapter Fifty-Eight.

After the conversation with his father at the town house, Nick spent the night at Patch's apartment, as he figured it was the only safe place for him to be. Once Nick and his friends were officially released from the Society, he hoped he would feel secure going back to his parents' place, but until then, he wanted to stay out of their apartment. He had removed his computer and any significant personal belongings from his bedroom, and he was camped out in Patch's living room.

Most of all, it felt important to be close to his brother.

The following morning pa.s.sed slowly. Genie didn't feel the boys should leave the apartment until they knew what was going to happen. As of noon, word still hadn't come.

"This is just like them," Patch said. "Everything at the last minute."

"At least we're prepared," Nick said. "I've called Lauren and Thad. If the Council doesn't comply, we send out the DVDs and the emails."

"What about Phoebe?" Patch asked.

Nick shrugged. "I don't know where she is. Lauren said she was out of town, but she couldn't say where."

"Girls," Patch said, groaning. "I haven't told Lia anything since you spoke with Parker. I didn't want to scare her." He paced around the living room. "G.o.d, why can I not call him my father father?"

Genie stood at the door to the kitchen. "Because he's not, Patch. Your father is the man who raised you. Parker may be your father in a technical sense, but not in the emotional one."

Patch nodded sadly and looked at Nick. They both wanted so much to have a connection with their father, and yet he had made it impossible. Perhaps all they would ever really have as family was each other and Genie.

The phone rang in the apartment, and Genie answered it crisply. "I believe it's for you," she said to Nick.

Nick answered the phone.

It was Charles, asking them to meet at the town house at two o'clock.

In front of the town house was a security camera aimed at the front door. Patch pointed it out first.

"I didn't notice that yesterday," Nick said, "but maybe I wasn't paying attention."

"I'm surprised," Patch said. "What's the purpose of it? I thought they specifically didn't want a record of people's comings and goings."

Nick shook his head. He was tired of trying to speculate on the Society's methods.

Up the street, Thad and Lauren were walking east toward the building. The four of them had agreed that they would enter together. They had told Genie that if they didn't report back to her in two hours at a specific meeting place, she should call the police as well as drop all the DVDs in a mailbox.

Nick had a sinking feeling as they ascended the steps of the sandstone building. He had hoped that Phoebe would return, that she wasn't really still out of town.

"Hold on," he said to Lauren. "Phoebe. Is she still away?"

Lauren nodded. "I'm sorry, Nick. I'll tell you where she is after this is all over. I promised her I wouldn't, but you deserve to know."

It sounded so grave. Where was she? Had she met someone else? The thought sickened him.

When they reached the top step, the door was opened by Charles Lawrence. The lion's head knocker rattled slightly in the breeze as he held it open for everyone.

Two of the Guardians, members of the Society's private security force, stood in the vestibule of the town house on its kilim runner.

"We're going to need to check each one of you," one of them said. "No recording devices, you understand?"

Nick nodded to the others. "It's going to be fine," he whispered to Lauren and Thad. He didn't really know, though, if it would be.

Patch was looking around frantically, as if trying to figure out what was going on. Nick gave him a friendly squeeze on the arm as they each were patted down by the Guardians.

"Come with me," Charles said. He led them down a hallway, past the main staircase. After pressing a panel in the wall, a door opened, leading to an elevator.

"You want us to get in there?" Lauren said. "You must be crazy."

Charles shrugged. "If you don't want to do this, you don't have to."

Nick stepped forward. "It's fine," he said. "It's an elevator. We've been to the upper floors. We know what's up there, more or less."

The four of them stepped into the elevator along with Charles and one of the Guardians. The elevator car was large, but it was still a tight fit.

Charles pressed a b.u.t.ton, and to everyone's surprise, the creaky old elevator started going down. Nick grasped Lauren's hand, as he sensed she was the most frightened by it all. He didn't know what was giving him the confidence to proceed, but he felt in his gut that they were going to survive this. He was reminded, though, that he had felt a lot of things in his gut in the last six months, and many of them had not gone his way.

The elevator went down what felt like two stories, and then everyone got out. They entered a long oak-paneled room. On its walls were bulletin boards containing newspaper clippings, maps, photographs, printouts of emails, and a.s.sorted lists. A bank of file cabinets flanked the wall on the left, and on top of them were multiple flat-screen televisions, one of them monitoring the front entrance, the others turned to muted news channels. A bookshelf nearby appeared to house yearbooks and other directories. On the right were four old-fas.h.i.+oned secretarial desks, lined up neatly in a row. On them were computers, printers, a fax machine, and multiline telephones. Across from the desks was a large oval oak conference table, a Harkness table similar to the ones they had in the Chadwick cla.s.srooms. Nick noticed that running along the walls and in front of the desks were bra.s.s curtain rods that were attached to the ceiling. Velvet curtains in a deep shade of burgundy were pulled aside at all four corners.

It was a conference room in which the meeting partic.i.p.ants could either be privy to the mechanics around them, or be completely part.i.tioned off from it.