Chapter 1 - THE ONLY NUMBER I WANTED
At seventeen, my family name could erase almost any mistake before it reached the outside world.
That afternoon, sitting inside a Fairhaven police station with dried blood on my face and a suspension hanging over my head, I did something that shocked everyone around me.
The officer pushed a phone across the desk.
“Who should we call?”
I looked at the list of numbers.
My father.
Julian Cavanaugh.
Billionaire.
Head of the Cavanaugh organization.
A man who could make judges return phone calls before dinner.
Beneath his name were three attorneys.
Then the chief of family security.
I ignored all of them.
“Eleanor Hargrove.”
The officer frowned.
“Your mother?”
“No.”
“Guardian?”
I touched the cut on my lip.
“No.”
“Then who is she?”
I looked toward the scratched tabletop.
“Just call her.”
Six months earlier, I would rather have spent a night in jail than ask Eleanor Hargrove for anything.
Back then, she was merely housekeeper number five.
Four had already quit Fairhaven Manor within fourteen months.
One lasted eleven days.
Another cried before leaving.
The third told my father's assistant she would rather clean motel bathrooms.
My brothers and I considered that an achievement.
There were four Cavanaugh sons.
Me—Declan, seventeen.
Roman, fifteen.
Theo, twelve.
Jamie, eight.
Our mother, Caroline, had died three years earlier.
After that, my father disappeared without technically going anywhere.
He still lived at the manor.
His suits hung upstairs.
His car entered the gates.
His voice occasionally crossed the dinner table.
But most of the time he existed through secretaries, lawyers, security men, and instructions.
Each of us found a different way to become impossible.
I fought.
Roman lied.
Theo stopped talking whenever adults asked what was wrong.
Jamie broke things and then insisted he didn't remember doing it.
Money solved none of those problems.
So Dad hired staff to survive us.
Then Eleanor arrived.
Twenty-seven.
Dark hair tied behind her neck.
Gray eyes.
One suitcase.
No visible fear.
That irritated me immediately.
On her first morning, I entered the kitchen.
Breakfast waited.
Eggs.
Toast.
Fruit.
I picked up the plate.
Dropped everything into the trash.
Two employees froze.
I looked directly at Eleanor.
“New rule. I don't eat anything I didn't order.”
She stared at the trash.
Then calmly opened the warmer.
Another plate was waiting.
She put it in front of me.
“Silverware is in the drawer.”
I said nothing.
“Unless your new rule includes eating with your hands.”
The kitchen went silent.
I actually wondered whether she understood whose house she was standing in.
“You know who I am?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe you should be more careful.”
Eleanor leaned both hands against the counter.
“You can hate me.”
Her voice remained calm.
“You can fight me.”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“But you won't break me.”
I laughed.
Everyone else looked terrified.
Eleanor added:
“And if you throw that plate away too, breakfast is over. I'm not cooking a third.”
I picked it up.
Not because she won.
Because I was hungry.
At least that was what I told myself.
Six months later, I sat in a police station staring at a phone while the officer dialed her number.
She answered after two rings.
“Hello?”
The officer explained.
There was silence.
Then:
“Is Declan hurt?”
Not:
What did he do?
Not:
How much trouble?
Is he hurt?
The officer looked at me.
“Cut lip. Bruising. Nothing serious.”
“I'll be there.”
He frowned.
“Are you authorized to collect him?”
“No.”
Another pause.
“Call Julian Cavanaugh as well. Tell him he needs to come personally.”
I stared at the phone.
The officer did too.
Most people did not order my father anywhere.
Eleanor apparently had forgotten that rule months ago.
Thirty-seven minutes later, she entered the station.
No makeup.
Old coat.
Hair still damp from rain.
She saw my face.
Stopped.
Then walked directly toward me.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She looked at the blood.
“Interesting definition.”
“I handled it.”
“I can see that.”
Then my father entered behind her.
Three lawyers followed.
And the first thing Julian Cavanaugh said was:
“Nobody gives a statement until counsel is present.”
Eleanor slowly turned.
“No.”
My father's eyes narrowed.
“What?”
She looked at me.
May you like
“He's going to tell the truth.”
That was when I realized tonight wasn't going to end the way Cavanaugh problems usually ended.
