Orson got the call in Maths class.

I memorized his class schedule from back to front and I know that he has Maths every Monday at 10:30 with Mr Warner. I know he got the call in Maths because I was in Biology when he texted me: Babe, meet me out front. It's an emergency.

Like I prepared him to say. We are to act accordingly- with text messages and social media clues to show for it.

I raise my hand and stutter out some poor sorry excuse to my biology teacher to leave the class. I'm resplendent in the ever-careful gazes of my classmates and make sure the worry in my eyes is prominent. As I leave for the door, the whispers wondering what's going on follow me. I treat this like a performance and I'm giving them the best damn entertainment they've ever seen. This is my last act, my finale if you will.

The closing show with curtain calls on our heels.

I see Orson standing by Mrs Abbey's side, his face appropriately grim. We both look at each other and for a moment I see a glimmer of solidarity. We are both behind the black lines, helping each other, partners in crime.

What he doesn't know is that I'm the one behind the doors pulling strings.

"Miss Scout, why are you here?"

"I ask her here," Orson says, and he grabs my hand. He looks at me forlornly, places his head on my shoulder.

I play dumbfounded. "What's happening?"

"It's my Dad," he swallows with much difficulty, "Maral just called and...and..."

I stare at him, unable to finish, proud that he's playing his part so well. Like I've instructed him. The emotions wide in his eyes, his eyelashes curved upwards like ravens taking off into a sunset. We know our lines so well, bouncing off each other's rehearsed facades like nothing.

My face softens, just the right amount. "Orson, what happened?"

Distress crosses over his face. "They found his body."

A cold wave rushes over me. I work my face into a hurt surprise, a gentle believable shock and throw my arms around his tall sweeping figure. He bows his head into my neck and I feel tears wetting my blazer. I don't know if he's genuinely sad or acting. Maybe it's a bit of both.

"If you two would come with me and I'll phone your families to come to pick you up."

-

All of New York can feel the tremor of Elijah's death. For this month, Time Magazine dedicated a cover to his memory- they named it Murder of a Titan, with a photo of Orson's father from a shoot he has done with the Tattler, embossed in a glossy black suit behind a mahogany desk, beaming coldly and proudly into the camera.

On the day of Elijah's funeral, ten highly polished town cars idle in front of St. Patrick's Cathedral on a clear April morning and at least five more are parked around the corner on Fiftieth Street. The church steps have been swept clean, the railings give off a high shine, and even the pigeons have found somewhere else to roost. The activity on the sidewalk across the street continues apace. There are so many people that they seem to move in one long, silken scarf of black colour. But when the town car doors open simultaneously in a perfectly choreographed ballet, all movement stops and the gawking begins.

Delia, the venerable matriarch of the Calloway dynasty, is ushered out of her car in a squadron of armed men. Through the towering squad of bodyguards, Delia is emboldened in a black Ralph Lauren sheath and taupe heels. Ropes of black pearls decorated her neck like an austere Christmas tree as she glided through the crowds with her forcefield of men.

The next to emerge from the car is Maral Calloway. Her signature glossy dark hair glimmers like a river of chocolate behind her back. Though Maral looks impeccable in a black wrap dress and YSL black boots, her skin is ashen, and her balance seems slightly off. Thick, sleek Celine sunglasses frame her face, preventing journalists and swarms of media from taking photos of her full face. Carmen follows suit behind her mother, wearing a dress that could have double for a negligee, her dark hair mussed. Like mother like daughter, Carmen to is wearing thick sunglasses to hide the press from taking photos of her or making a comment on her recent weight gain, following a three months stint in a treatment centre for eating disorders.

A door slams on the corner as Orson steps onto the curb, holding my hand. My blonde hair is slicked back straight, my glossy lips twisted into an appropriate grimace. The other members of the Elite, save for Luciana and Phineas, and the rest of the Calloway clan, look testily in my direction, their expressions caged, no one knowing quite what to say. Parker's glare is the most poisonous of them all. They are not happy with my presence at Orson's father's funeral but he insisted, saying he wouldn't show if I couldn't be there.

Flashbulbs pop. I shade my fine-boned oval face with my quilted Chanel clutch. Orson squeezes his eyes shut, looking positively green. After a moment, I hold his hand. "Are you okay?" I whisper in his ear.

Orson opens his big-blue eyes, looks at me, and they soften. Now I know my hold over him is all-powerful. "Yeah, I'll be fine," he mutters and grips me tighter, "I'm just glad you're here."

"Excuse me?" say someone behind the two of us.

We turn and peer into the flushed, eager face of a reporter. A cameraman in jeans and a Yankees T-shirt stands behind her.

The woman smiles brightly. "Janelle Javier, Channel Ten. Now that your father has passed away, Mr Calloway, will you be expected to step into the role he has left behind at Calloway Industries?"

My eyes widen in perfected, glazed anger, "Jesus, his father's body isn't even cold yet and you're already asking him when he'll be replacing him?"

The woman's lips curl. "And you are?"

"She's my girlfriend," Orson says curtly, shooting me a small smile. "Amory Scout." 

-

Unbeknownst to anyone, the 34th floor of Midtown Manhattan's Time Warner Centre is home to Brownstein and Lorell, a small law firm that has kept an exceedingly low profile but is undoubtedly one of the most influential legal powerhouses in the country. The firm almost exclusively represents East Coast establishment families and do not indulge themselves in new clients- one has to be specially recommended.

The day after the funeral, remaining members of the Calloway clan and their respective partners showed up. I know this through the CCTV cameras I've hacked, watching the relatives of Elijah Calloway arriving en masse at 9:52 a.m. Delia, in her matronly state, showed up first with her entourage. Her French ladies, dressed immaculately in identical black Alexander Wang turtleneck dresses and sensible Caroline Herrera pumps, followed behind her.

The next to arrive was Maral Calloway and her daughter, Carmen. Unlike her funeral get-up, Maral looks extra colourful in her tie-dye Alexandre Vauthier silk charmeuse maxi dress with cutouts on her waist. Paired with a gold cuff bracelet on her wrist and a red Longchamp hobo bag, Maral serves to be the only imprint of colour in the entire room. Carmen doesn't appear nearly as bloated as she was when she was in rehab, carrying remnants of the immaculately polished Queen of Kensington in the sleekness of her hair and her leggy glamour wrapped in denim Chanel.

Unlike the matched set of Carmen and Maral, Orson is the last to arrive. I'm not surprised or perturbed. Twenty minutes ago we were kissing adieu at The Penrose, discussing clandestine plans and secrets. We tighten our alibis, Bonnie-Clyde our way through this darkened chaos. What he doesn't know is my marionette strings behind the scenes, arranging, plotting, scheming.

A modern-day Beau Brummell fashioned in impeccable Upper East Side breeding and flashy Wall Street swagger, Orson Calloway pioneered a brand of "hateable fuckboy billionaire" that was unparalleled to his peers, channeling a narcissistic hedonism perfected by the Don Draper types. Buttoned up in a pinstriped Paul Stuart suit, he looks fresh, clean and serious.

Nothing like the unrumpled high school senior in his Kensington blazer trying to vy for my number.

"Where were you?" Carmen asks pointedly as he sits down. I watch from the comfort of my room, drinking on zero-calorie black coffee.

Orson's crystal blue gaze flickers up to his stepsister, "I was with Amory," he discloses. At the mention of my name, the mood of the room shifts. Delia's face sours, Maral's lips thins and Carmen's eyes narrow.

The grandfather clock in the lobby begins to chime ten and a woman in an Armani power suit comes out into the reception area to greet the family. "Hi, I'm Teresa," she introduced, "Please follow me into a meeting room."

Teresa shepherds everyone down the corridor and through the double doors into the main conference room. A massive dark oak table dominated the room, placed in front of the bank of windows framing a panoramic view of the Hudson river.

"What were you doing with Amory?" Carmen demands of her brother as they take their seats on the table, clustered more or less in their family units, except for Delia, who positions herself at the head of the table.

"We were getting breakfast at Sant Ambroeus, we always get their cappuccinos on Sunday. It's tradition."

"I didn't know you two are a 'we' now," supply Carmen frostily. My stomach clenches as the overbearing presence of Carmen breathing down Orson's neck. She's only been back in New York for less than forty-eight hours and I can feel her twisting her influence on Orson, weaponizing their sibling bond to her advantage.

Orson rolls his eyes at his sister's malice and responds by sitting down quietly. The Calloways, family lawyer, Eren Goldstein of the Chelsea's Goldsteins, stir his coffee as he looks around the anxiously assembled group and decides it's time to put them out of their misery. "Well, we all know why we're here, so let's get on with it."

Maral smiles pensively, while Carmen leans back in her chair. Orson peers down at the sumptuously lacquered wood grain, eyes fixated on the desk as if his life depends on it.

Well, it kind of does.

"As you all know, Elijah Calloway passed two days ago abruptly. None of us could've seen this happen and for that, we are all terribly saddened by this unforeseen chain of events. Grief is, after all, love with nowhere to go. But it is due to this abruptness, we've come to establish that Elijah Calloway never saw his death coming and therefore had failed to leave behind a will. This leaves us to divide his estate and legacy according to intestacy laws."

I sit upright, eyes intently on Eren Goldstein through my computer's screen as he declares who will be getting what. "The intestacy laws in the United States vary from state to state but as Elijah is originally a citizen from the United Kingdom, we shall be following the intestate succession according to the legislation of the Commonwealth."

Eren Goldstein pauses, watching his words sink in with the Calloway family. Maral lace her fingers together, her Boucheron wedding ring glinting as she smiles smugly. As the married spouse of Elijah Calloway, there is no doubt that Maral expects to inherit everything and make sure she aligned Carmen to take over Calloway enterprises as next in line.

I smirk to myself as I sip my cappuccino from Sant Ambroeus.

"Maral Calloway, as Elijah's married partner, shall be given the townhouse in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, the Hamptons summer house and the Darling Harbour block of apartments purchased most recently as outlined in the prenuptial agreement signed at the beginning of your marriage in June 12th 1998. According to the Calloway family prenuptial agreement, you are only entitled to properties and estates accumulated during your marriage with Mr Calloway-"

"What?" Maral shrieks. "That's it?! He promised-"

"Mrs Calloway, please restrain yourself," Eren Goldstein says flatly, readjusting his bifocals as he flinches at the high pitched intonation.

"Elijah said he'll give me his share of the Calloway estate and cash holdings!" Maral grits her teeth.

"Well unfortunately, Mr Calloway probably did not envision being murdered at the age of 52 and therefore as a result, did not leave behind a will overriding your original prenuptial agreement."

"I only sign it because her crazy husband made me sign it!" Maral jabs a finger at Delia, whose eyes narrow slightly at Maral's crazed behaviour. Her lips purse.

"Maral, come on you know what you were signing up for when you married into our family," Delia's eyes glint but her face remains polite. "My husband, while now senile, is incredibly protective of the family wealth.You might be a Calloway by name but you are absolutely not a Calloway by blood."

Maral simmers down at Delia's words and begins to compose herself. "Get yourself together mom, you look like a gold digger." I hear Carmen whisper furiously to Maral, the hypersensitive mic I've stitched into Orson's blazer picking up her frustration.

Carmen is cool and collected as ever. While she hasn't perfected Parker's icy visage down pat, Carmen has no problem maintaining a graceful composure in front of the lawyer despite taking a nearly six months hiatus from the Upper East Side. You can take the girl out of Kensington but you can't take the Kensington out of the girl, I suppose.

"As Maral is unable to inherit the position of head of the family and Jeremy Calloway declared mentally unfit by the board of directors, the natural successor to the Calloway dynasty is outlined to be a male heir," clarify Eren Goldstein after clearing his throat to rally the room's attention, "A male heir that is produced from the bloodlines of Horace Calloway, a decree and tradition upheld by the Calloway family since 31st December 1633."

Delia's face falls as the realisation sets in. I see her knuckles turn white, her jade rings glaring at me through the CCTV camera. It's like she is suddenly made aware of what my moves have positioned me to be- what my moves have positioned Orson to be. With her only blood son out of the way, her only claim to the Calloway fortune, Delia no longer has any control over the vast riches left behind her demented husband. When Jeremy Calloway has fallen prey to dementia, Delia has made sure to use her husband's insanity to her advantage- sending Deidre away to marry her son and plotting her death, rearranging marionette strings to make sure Elijah becomes entitled to everything while leaving Orson with nothing, secretly liaising with her son to get rid of Orson, unknowingly ruining the lives of anyone who dared get close.

The rich had never cared about the lives of the poor they had to ruin to get what they want.

But now the tables have turned and I had not only flipped it 180 but I had broken it in half and made it my bitch..

Enslaved by the archaic traditions of the family she was betrothed into and made prisoner by her own choices, she has no choice but to bow to the bastard half-breed she had tried so hard to make miserable.

"The mantle of the Calloway family, as well as all cash holdings and financial instruments belonging to the Calloway held in various banks such as OCBC in Singapore, HSBC in Hong Kong, Bangkok Bank in Thailand, C. Hoare & Co. in London, Landolt & Cie in Switzerland and JP Morgan in the United States shall be bestowed upon Orson Jeremiah Calloway. This entitlement also includes the three-hundred-acre estate known as Calloway Manor and all its contents."

I cross out Delia Calloway's name from my list with a red marker.

-

sorry for ghositng....it's just that the seasonal depression hit and i was unable to find the motivation to write but YESS i'm back babyeeee

if you completely don't understand lawyer talk, it's all gOOOD because imma break it down for you: 

so amory basically played delia by getting orson to ~kill~ elijah because she knows that number one, elijah doesn't have a will that will let delia gets a big chunk of dat calloway money and number two, by default and the legal rules of intestacy, all dat calloway inheritance will get given to- you get it- orson. because you know he's a calloway by blood and a male heir xoxo

also since orson is now the sole heir of the calloway fortune and he gets everything since elijah is ~dead~ that essentially means he also gets the calloway manor, which essentially means amory kicked her out of her house lmao

so not only did this means delia had to see the bastard son of her husband and his mistress take all of the fortune she's been plotting to get but amory also make sure to kick her out of calloway manor while she's at it and leave delia with ~absolutely nothing~

what a big fuck you- THE UltimAte ReVEnGE

but yes, i hope you guys enjoy! we are at the tail end of the book now so...strap in for a hell of an ending?