1. Had father thought about him when I came into the world? He must have. I felt a constricting of my chest. Was it a pang of loss or anger or sadness? I shook it off.
“And Asher’s mother?” I asked as I continued rummaging through the paperwork. “What of her?”
“Deceased,” Mr. Lawrence said, frowning. “There are no other known relatives.”
I’d almost exhausted the file when I spotted our brother. As large as a letter, it took a minute to register as a photograph. “It’s him, Rose.”
The photograph had been enlarged and cropped, and I stared into his extraordinarily light eyes. They were Rose’s eyes. In fact, he was the male embodiment of Rose— aquiline nose, lean frame, full mouth. He was in shirtsleeves, arms crossed, the thickness of his forearms hinting at manual labor. The half smile cocking his mouth was a brash challenge hidden under a thin layer of civility. A metal plate lay tucked behind his left shoulder. It was stamped with two words: EMPIRE HOUSE.
“He could be your twin,” I said, trying not to sound as disappointed as I felt. I’d sat across from Rose at thousands of family meals. Though good-looking, Asher’s features were as exotic as a jar of strawberry jam. I thought at the very least he’d look like an outsider, different, like me. “He is definitely an Adams,” I admitted. “No one can deny it.”
“He’s still a stranger,” Rose said in a choked voice. “If he wasn’t, he would be here, wouldn’t he?”
Mr. Lawrence sighed. “There lies the problem. Asher John Adams seems to have vanished from the face of the earth. It appears your father had very little contact with his son over the years, no more than a handful of terse phone calls. When your father wished to finally speak to his son in person, he learned Asher Adams has no known address in New York City or the whole Eastern seaboard, for that matter.”
I didn’t like that. Was Rose right? Had my father been swindled? No. He could be flighty, but he was too intelligent for that, too sharp-minded. “Yet, something in those conversations convinced my father to make Asher manager of his estate,” I said. “He could have given it to Rose or me, or even you.”
“I’m not the eldest anymore,” Rose said. “But I am here, and he isn’t.” Her posture regained its straight line. “Could the problem be solved that easily? If we can’t find him, everything stays as it is?”
Mr. Lawrence looked pained, indecision clouding his hazel eyes. I stared at him, mercilessly, as he waged debate within himself. How he must tip his hand in the courtroom! I began to wonder why father picked this man. Then it hit me, his fee was probably right next door to nothing. I glanced down at the bank notices. “There are further financial complications,” I said evenly. “Could you explain what those are?”
He nodded. “The mortgage and property taxes are in severe arrears. If the heir does not make claim on the house and bring the tax bill to date, the home will be sold and the bank and state will see its money.”
“Did my father leave any funds in his accounts?” Rose asked, though we both knew the answer to that one.
Mr. Lawrence paused. “I’m sorry, but not very much at all.”
My mind reeled, the implications of this development still unclear. “What if Mr. Asher John Adams can’t be found? What happens then?”
“If he doesn’t come forward within a year, the house will revert to the bank,” Mr. Lawrence explained, his tone regaining a professional aloofness. “The bank will pay the property taxes and sell the home as soon as they can get the stake in the ground.”
We were silent a moment as we considered that image.
“What if we could raise the funds?” Rose said, growing desperate. “Could we pay the bank in installments?
Mr. Lawrence looked away. “I’m afraid you’d need Mr. Asher to approve that route, Miss Adams.” He pitied us. I hated pity. It was a thin veil hiding the firm belief that a similar fate could not possibly happen to him. “Your father was in the process of finding Mr. Adams when he passed on. He’d begun searching in New York City, but hadn’t gotten any further.”
“Could we hire one of those private detectives?” Rose asked. “That seems the logical route.”
“Of course,” Mr. Lawrence agreed. “However, there is the matter of the fee. Pinkerton charges a thirty-dollar per diem, expenses not included. New York is not an inexpensive town.”
Rose slumped in her chair. “I see.”
“I’ll go,” I volunteered.
Mr. Lawrence cleared his throat. “I don’t think it wise to go alone, but if you went together, you might find Mr. Adams quickly and we can get this sorted out.”
Rose stood and tugged at her shirtwaist irritably, displacing her black silk belt. “We’re supposed to pick up and go to that awful city and allow a stranger to make decisions about our future?” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t, Ivy.”
“Can’t what?”
“Allow any of this,” she said, rising. “I know you’re not accustomed to it, but listen to me for a minute. If we continue to let our life fall away, piece by piece, we’ll be left with nothing.” Her eyes filled and brimmed over, but she didn’t brush at her cheeks. Tears had already replaced our home as Rose’s most constant companion. “There must be something we can do to keep the house. I can get a job, two even. We have a year, don’t we?” Rose asserted, her voice gaining authority. “You just said it.”
“Most men don’t make that sum in a year’s time,” Mr. Lawrence said gently.
“But we’re women, Mr. Lawrence,” I interrupted. “Unless you hadn’t noticed.”
He reddened, and I decided to take advantage of his discomfort. “I can’t shake the feeling we’re not getting the whole story,” I said. “Is that true, Your Honor?”
He looked away. “I’m not a judge.”
“You’re sure acting like one. Why not tell us everything?”
“Ivy.” Mr. Lawrence met my eyes. All the wavering had disappeared from his, and now they bored into me, direct and clear as a midsummer’s sky. “I don’t enjoy bringing bad news. I hope you understand that. Any decent person would be concerned about the sheer number of revelations it’s become my responsibility to impart.”
“Revelations aren’t meant to be experienced piecemeal. I assure you very little shocks me. Please continue.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and he glanced quickly at Rose. “Bankers are not patient men. Eviction proceedings have begun. I paid a visit the other night to tell your father of the bank’s decision. I’ll never forgive myself for adding to his misery.”
“It’s not your fault,” Rose said automatically, but something tore inside her, a messy, ragged break. She covered her face with her hands and really let go.
Mr. Lawrence looked as helpless as I felt. I knew I should comfort her, but I hesitated. And as I crouched down, she lifted her head, and I knew I was too late. There was something new in her eyes, a coldness that frightened me a little. “I’m going with you to New York.”
“You haven’t been past Albany,” I said to my sister, but not unkindly.
“Neither have you.” She sniffed.
“I’ve been to the city a thousand times in my mind. That counts for something.” I was meant for Manhattan; Rose was not. The city would find a thousand ways to hurt her, one sucker punch at a time. I picked up the photograph of Asher. “Look at how he’s standing, like the devil himself. Let me go first and see what we’re getting mixed up with.”
Rose snatched the photo and held it at eye level, as though she was speaking directly to him. “This man is my brother,” she said, her voice steely. “It