Crap, Genie thought. Crap, crap, crap.
Her rush of temper had carried her out her mother's office and back into the Old City. Now, wandering the cobblestone streets, her anger faded, leaving a vague uncertainty in its place.
It had been stupid to think her mom would help. All she'd ever wanted from Genie was for her eldest daughter to be quiet ("this is a very important meeting, Genevieve"), be polite ("he is a very important donor, Genevieve"), be pretty ("you have to do something about your hair, Genevieve") and sit still for the cameras ("this is for your father's campaign, Genevieve").
Alright, Genie thought, fine. Now what do I do? What would Mariah do?
She'd take charge and kick ass. I can do that.
First step...
"Be it ever so humble," Genie muttered. It was an old joke, and not a very good one.
Riding the ferry across the bay to the Crumbling Isle (a misnamed place, she thought, home to the estates of Windenburg's wealthy and powerful), she realized that she'd been avoiding going back.
Looking at the old mansion, she remembered the fateful evening a year ago when she'd brought Mariah and Aadi here. It had been a simple plan - get grand-père's files, lock up Nick Alto and free Mariah from her ties to the gangsters. That should have been the end of things.
Well, if at first you don't succeed...
"Good afternoon, Ms. Geneiveve," Stephens greeted her.
The family butler, Stephens had been a fixture of the house for as long as Genie could remember. Trained in the old traditions of service, he cooked, cleaned, greeted guests, managed the house and oversaw the staff of maids and gardeners who came in daily. Tireless, unflappable and always stiffly formal, Genie's sister, Blair (or had it been Debra?), had, more than once, suggested he was actually a robot.
"We were not expecting you," Stephens continued.
"No, sorry," Genie said, putting on a courteous smile. "Kind of a spur of the moment thing. Are my sisters here?"
"I believe Ms. Debra and Ms. Blair are in the media room," Stephens replied. "Ms. Kassidy is in the dining room."
"Have you seen or heard anything from my Uncle Max?" Genie said.
"I have not," Stephens replied, his disdain for Max Villareal evident even though his formal tones.
Genie found herself suddenly wondering why. Surely Stephens knew about her parents' unsavory ties. Was it just that Uncle Max didn't put on a polite and proper front? Did it matter?
"Because you can't let him in," Genie went on, trying to make her voice firm and commanding but pretty sure she just sounded a little panicky. "You can't let him anywhere near the twins or Kassidy. He... I mean, it isn't... they're not safe."
"Calm yourself, Ms. Geneiveve," Stephens said firmly. "Your mother has given standing instructions that Mr. Maximilien is no longer welcome in this house."
"Further, I can personally assure you no harm will come to any of the young ladies of this family as long as I draw breath," Stephens went on, then added with a sardonic look: "Provided, of course, that your friend Ms. Huntley does not see fit to incapacitate me again."
"Yeah... I'm sorry about that," Genie sighed, remembering Mariah knocking out Stephens with an Agency stunner that night. Thinking about it, she really wished she had one of those stunners now... not that she wanted to knock Stephens out, but she felt it would come in handy eventually.
"Shall I set a place at table for you this evening Ms. Geneiveve?" Stephens asked, seeming to once again set the entire incident aside as an unfortunate case of bad manners. "Your father is away, but we are expecting your mother for dinner this evening."
"No, I don't plan on staying," Genie said, welcoming the social shelter of the butler's formality. "I just need to talk to my sisters. Thank you, Stephens."
"Of course," Stephens nodded. "I am, as always, at your service."
----------------
She found the twins in the media room, just like Stephens had said.
"I need to talk to you two about something important," Genie said. "You remember what mom told us about Uncle Max. Well, he came to see me. Wanted me to tell him where my friend Mariah is..."
"Is she really a gangster?" Debra asked.
"I heard she was working for the Agency," Blair put in. "Did she and Miranda really get married, or is that just like a cover?"
"What? No," Genie stammered. "Of course they got married."
"Because I heard Miranda works for the Agency," Blair continued.
"No, she doesn't," Debra said. "Her mom works for the Agency."
"Cassie can't work for the Agency, dumb-ass," Blair argued. "She's a big-time star... and she's a witch."
"You're the dumb-ass and she's not really a witch," Debra scoffed. "Witches aren't real."
"Girls!" Genie burst out. "I need you to listen! Uncle Max threatened me! He threatened you. I need you both to stay safe."
"Don't go anywhere with strangers. Avoid high risk areas and activities," Debra recited.
"Communicate plans. Maintain awareness of your surroundings at all times," Blair rolled her eyes. "Really, Genie, mom has us go through Kidnap and Ransom training, same as you."
"Well, remember it," Genie said. "Especially when you go away to college this fall."
"Yes, mom," the twins said together.
"Low blow," Genie muttered.
----------------
Warning her youngest sister, Kassidy, was kind of easier. Except...
"We wouldn't even have gangsters like Uncle Max without the aristos and the super-rich creating a hierarchical system that oppresses the working classes," Kassidy said passionately.
"Kassidy, we are the super-rich," Genie pointed out.
"Well, you're not! You walked away from the corrupting influence of our family's money," Kassidy said proudly. "That's so freeing and empowering!"
"It's not as much fun as you think," Genie chuckled.
"I'm going to live on a commune," Kassidy said brightly.
----------------
Second step...
She needed information. She needed grand-père's files, hidden in the secret rooms behind the wine cellar. That meant getting past Stephens, which called for subtlety and discretion.
"I was just hoping to sneak a bottle of '71 Rossi," Genie lied. "You wouldn't mind, would you?"
"A fine vintage," Stephens said. "I believe we have several left. Though I am convinced the workmen absconded with a few bottles. By chance rather than design, I suspect. One would hardly expect connoisseurs among locksmiths... though I suppose it is possible."
"Umm... locksmiths?" Genie said, trying not to sound too interested.
"Yes, your mother had them in after the incident last year," Stephens said. "They changed the locks on the late Monsieur Villareal's private rooms. That was after she moved his personal papers to another location... which she did not deign to share where with me, of course."
"Damn," Genie breathed softly.
"If one wished information that might have been in the late Monsieur Villareal's personal papers, about a family member for instance, one might be better served speaking with one of their associates," Stephens mused.
"You wouldn't happen to know any of Uncle Max's associates," Genie said, giving up any semblance of pretense.
"I am pleased to say, I do not," Stephens said. "Not his current ones at least. I did when he was younger. Most of them were very unpleasant people, but I think you might find Ms. Fyres to be of a more amiable nature. That would be Ms. Morgan Fyres... Morgan Goth now, as she married Mr. Alexander Goth some years ago."
"Morgan Goth?" Genie blinked.
"Yes, I believe you will find her in residence at the Goth family estate," Stephens continued. "If one were so inclined, I believe that by catching the next ferry back to the Old City one might arrive at the station in time for the evening train to Willow Creek."
"Stephens, you're a marvel," Genie smiled.
