Page 55 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘As tempting as that offer is… I need you to look at these timestamps.’

There’s a screen full of them. Jacob loiters at the door with a folder until I welcome him in and listen to him talking about party arrangements, which is definitely not in his job description.

I humour him anyway, while James lowers his laptop screen when he looks at it.

‘He’s such a kiss-arse,’ James says when Jacob leaves.

‘Don’t be jealous; he’s just good at his job.’

‘Anyway… back to the task in hand. Cross-reference the timestamps with these,’ he says, and puts a printout next to the laptop.

I cross-reference.

The device ID appears four times in the window. Four times when the Hamilton contract data was pulled. I squint at it, trying to figure out what the heck he’s meaning.

The device ID belongs to a phone registered on the estate network.

I look at it for a long moment.

‘It could be Fraser,’ James says.

‘It’s not Fraser.’

‘The device⁠—’

‘Is on the estate network,’ I say. ‘Priscilla is on it. Dad is. I am. Anyone who logs into the internet during stays or meetings.’ I push the printout back. ‘Even you are.’

‘He was in London the day of the bomb,’ James says. ‘The access happened while⁠—’

‘It’s not him,’ I say.

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I know my brother. Find me something more concrete than this, or drop it.’

‘Eliza—’

‘Drop it,’ I say.

He picks up the laptop and walks out.

I drink my coffee and look out the window while mulling it over. It’s not Fraser, but it’s someone in our house. Not my family. Not James, but someone with access.

* * *

Dad’s having a good morning, watching the horse racing and looking far less pale today.

‘The grey one,’ he says when I come in.

‘You know I don’t approve of the racing.’

‘Only because I’d never buy you a horse.’

It’s not the reason I don’t like racing, but it’s absolutely something I’m still salty about. We had the money and the land for horses. My dad just wanted our focus to be on learning how to kill.

‘The grey one’s going to win, and you’ll wish you had your money on it.’

We watch until the race ends. The grey one didn’t win. Dad mutes the TV with a huff.