Page 81 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

“Yeah right. Knowing you, you’d rather spend the money on teapots.”

We laughed, and even though it was nice to joke like this, I couldn’t help but fear for David. Who knew what would happen if he broke into Lucien’s house and got caught?

*

By the time we reached Freetown, the rain was pelting down. It splashed the sidewalks. The gutters overflowed as we jogged from the car, with Lucien holding an umbrella over me to keep me warm. We ran into the town hall. To my surprise, I was exhilarated by the rain, even if I was worried for David.

The guy who’d been waiting to meet us at the municipal building showed us down to the basement. I took off my jacket, which had unfortunately been drenched despite Lucien’s umbrella. He took it from me and hung it on an old coat rack in the archival office, while I squeezed out water from my hair into the bathroom sink.

After we’d gotten dry, we went inside. The archives were arranged in rooms, stacked in heavy filing cabinets and labeled neatly. None of the stuff had been digitized yet.

“All righty,” Lucien said, rubbing his hands.

“How are we gonna find anything in this?” My jaw dropped when I saw piles and piles of old, dusty folders.

“It’s easy…” Lucien pointed at a room. “This here is Freetown municipal. That room on the left is Freetown’s private domains. That’s where they keep copies of anything that’s been notarized or sent by solicitors. “

“And that room?” I pointed.

“That’s where the planning and survey information for Caluga Falls is. And you—” he said, gesturing to the right, “are looking for private documents from the city. That’s over there,” he gestured at a row of filing cabinets in the back corner.

I’d never had to deal with anything like this filing system. I began to have some appreciation for the meticulous neatness with which Lucien organized his documents. The Freetown archive was a shambles, and it took me half an hour to even find the part of the room I was supposed to be looking in.

But once I got there, it didn’t take me long to find the documents listed under O for O’Shea.

I noticed that Lucien didn’t just leave me to it. In fact, more than once, he came in to see how I was getting on.

“Found anything important?”

“One or two bits,” he replied. “How about you?”

“Nothing yet,” I said as he reached over to squeeze my shoulder. I appreciated the affection despite the fact that Lucien was clearly snooping on me.

What was I expecting to find? I didn’t know. But at last, when I did get to documents that had been filed in the name of O’Shea, I was trembling with excitement. At last I’d get some information about Conor, about where he’d gone and what he was doing. Had he come back to town when his dad died?

At long last, I found the death certificate for Martin O’Shea, Conor’s father. The documents for Martin’s death had been grouped together into one file, and I got them out and laid them in order.

I’d never liked Martin. He was an unpleasant and sour man, given to drinking heavily. Secretly, I knew that he was cruel to Conor, maybe even violent. But it still made me sad to think about his passing. But when I got to the bottom of the file, I saw nothing.

There was nothing about Conor. Not a thing. No signing over of the deed into his name. Not even a note from a lawyer.

I’d given up hope of even seeing his name when I found a small set of sheets bound together with a paperclip at the back of the pile. I’d been scanning the file closely for Conor’s name and I’d flicked through them. But when I untangled the paperclip, I could see the pages related to some kind of dispute with a cousin of Martin who was now deceased. One of them had filed a letter of suit against the other about the house.

The house? The O’Shea’s shack wasn’t of much use to anyone. But as I went further into the pile of pages, I understood. No one had made a claim on Martin’s inheritance. And as I turned to the last of the pages, I saw a will. It read:

I, Martin O’Shea, being of sound mind and body, hereby make my last will and testament. To Conor O’Shea, I leave my property and the proceeds of my business, O’Shea and Sons, to…

I peered closer. Conor’s name had been circled in red pen. And there, in the elegant handwriting of a lawyer or a city official, someone had written: CLAIMANT MISSING.

It was as if Conor had never even existed. As if someone had come into the file and ripped out anything that might have related to him at all. He wasn’t listed at Martin’s address. Conor hadn’t even been there for his dad’s funeral.

“Everything all right?” said Lucien behind me, and I looked up, startled.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Couldn’t find anything.” But as the rain hammered outside, a chill began to creep up my spine. I was starting to feel like Lucien knew something, and that was why he was checking on me so frequently as I looked through the documents.

I’ve got no other way of getting back. And I need to be there in case he catches David.

“That’s a shame,” said Lucien. “If it’s all right with you, I’d prefer to start driving back. If we wait any longer, it’s going to be swimming.”