Chapter 155

Iris & Arthur

Iris

When Arthur and I pull up to my parents’ estate, the sun has nearly set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The security gate swings open as we approach, and Arthur parks the car. My feet are tired as we climb out, but it’s a good sort of tired after a fun, relaxing, and dare I say it—even a productive day, if you count the conversation with those people in the butterfly conservatory.

“I hope Miles wasn’t too much trouble,” I say as we walk up the path to the front door.

Arthur chuckles. “Your parents probably spoiled him rotten. We’ll have to deal with the consequences.”

When we walk into Miles’ room, however, it’s Nora we see, the nanny, not my parents. She’s sitting in a rocking chair by the window while Miles lays on his belly on the floor, kicking his feet as he reads a picture book. Her eyes widen when she sees us standing there.

“Oh,” she says, jumping up. “You’re back.”

I open my mouth to say something, but Miles jerks his head up and gasps. “Mommy! Daddy!” He jumps up and runs over, throwing his arms around Arthur’s legs. Arthur scoops him up, and Miles is already chattering away about how much fun he had today, and how hungry he is now—he wants mac and cheese and chicken nuggets for dinner.

When I turn toward Nora to thank her for watching him, she’s already gone. The last I see of her is her pristine gray dress disappearing around the corner.

Arthur exchanges a confused glance with me. Even he seems to be perturbed by that, so I know it’s not just in my head this time.

“Did we do something to offend her?” he asks.

I shake my head slowly. “I don’t think so. She’s always been a bit… awkward around me. I assumed it was because of the whole switched-at-birth thing.”

“Maybe she blames herself?” Arthur suggests as we begin making our way back out to the car. “She was the nanny when it happened, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “But that was years ago, and it wasn’t her fault. It was the hospital’s mistake, right?”

Arthur shrugs. “Maybe she feels she should have noticed sooner that something was off.”

“Maybe.” I bite the inside of my cheek as we step outside. While Arthur gets Miles, who is still yapping away about his day, situated in his car seat, my steps falter. I feel… a prickle on the back of my neck. Like I’m being watched.

Frowning, I turn and look back up at my parents’ home, and that’s when I see her.

Nora.

She’s staring at me from a window, her face pinched into a look that unsettles me for reasons I can’t explain. Even from here, the deep lines around her mouth seem deeper than ever, and her lips are downturned.

We lock eyes, and although I’m not entirely sure why, my breath hitches. A feeling of cold dread settles in my stomach.

But it’s gone in an instant. She quickly snaps the curtains shut, and that’s the end of that.

I blink, both confused and put off. Does she dislike me for some reason? Does she dislike Arthur? Miles, even?

Or is Arthur right, and she just feels guilty that I was switched with Selina at the birth she assisted with?

…

Arthur

The moment I open my laptop, I know I’ve made a mistake. Dozens of emails flood my inbox, most marked urgent. I should have known better than to neglect my phone for an entire day, even if it was a Saturday spent with my family.

With a sigh, I start sorting through the messages, flagging the ones that need immediate attention and ignoring the ones that can wait until tomorrow. Most are standard governmental affairs—budget approvals, meeting requests, policy documents for review.

I’m just about to get started responding to the emails when my office door swings open so abruptly that it crashes against the wall. I jump, knocking over my coffee cup in my surprise, and curse as the dark liquid spills across a pile of paperwork.

“Dammit, Ezra,” I growl, jumping up and grabbing a box of tissues. I pull out several and press them into the stain before it can grow. “Why did you have to barge in like that?”

Ezra freezes in the doorway, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry, Alpha.” He rushes forward and helps me clean up the mess. Once it’s handled—although a strongly-worded letter from Marjorie Falks is, ironically, ruined—he steps back.

“Well?” I ask, sitting back in my chair. “Did you need something?”

My Beta nods and clears his throat. “I’ve been looking into that arts funding issue like you asked.”

I sit up straighter in my chair. “And?”

“Well, it’s… strange,” Ezra says carefully. “The schools claim they were supposed to receive funds from the Ordan Public School Fund, as they do every year. But they’ve been receiving fewer and fewer funds each year.”

That takes me by surprise. The Ordan Public School Fund, Iris’s cousin’s charity, is one of the biggest and most prosperous in the country.

“Are they receiving fewer donations?” I ask.

“That’s the thing,” Ezra says, scratching his head with one hand while he pulls a small envelope out of his pocket with the other. He hands it to me and nods toward it. “Their reported donations have actually increased year over year for the past three years. Last year alone, they saw a twelve percent increase in overall donations.”

I furrow my brow and open the envelope, pulling out a report on the Ordan Public School Fund’s yearly numbers. Indeed, last year was particularly prosperous. “This amount alone should be enough to save arts programs across the board,” I mutter, glancing up at my Beta.

Ezra nods. “Yes, it should. And according to the Fund’s financial statements, the amount allocated for direct school funding has remained consistent. But when I contacted several schools discreetly, they showed me their grant letters. The amounts have been decreasing steadily.”

I lean back in my chair, trying to make sense of this. “Could it be that they’re spreading the same amount across more schools? Diluting the individual grants?”

“I considered that,” Ezra admits. “But the number of participating schools has remained constant. If anything, a few have dropped out of the program due to what they called ‘insufficient funding to justify the paperwork.’”

“So where is the money going?” I ask.

“That’s where I’ve reached an impasse,” he says with a sigh. “I’ve contacted the Fund, and they said they would send me the numbers. It’s been a week and I haven’t heard back.”

“So contact them again.”

“I’ve tried. They put me on hold for thirty minutes before the line went dead. When I went in person on Friday, they told me Veronica was out of the office and wouldn’t be back for a week, and that they didn’t have the authorization to give me the information without her present.”

I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. It makes no sense. Veronica has been a pillar of Ordan for years. Her charity initiatives alone have been massively beneficial for the people, and she is nothing if not a genuine and decent person.

At least, so it seems. Although in the world of wealth and status and power in this country, I suppose you can never know a person’s true motives.

“Well, this is worrisome,” I admit. “Iris is working with her on her gala, so it could harm all of us if funds are being misallocated. Keep pushing them to give you the numbers. If they don’t send them within two weeks, send them a legal threat.”

“Understood, sir,” Ezra says with a nod. With that, he turns and quickly leaves, likely to head straight to the Fund’s headquarters.

Once I’m alone, I frown, staring out the window at the bustling city below. The information Ezra has gathered is troubling but not conclusive. There could be legitimate explanations for the discrepancies.

Perhaps there are other programs benefiting from the increased donations, programs that aren’t directly tied to school funding but still support children’s education in some way.

After all, surely Veronica, Iris’s illustrious cousin, wouldn’t be embezzling funds… right?