A/N: Hi readers! I'm so sorry it's been so long since my last update. I was swamped this summer with work and life stuff, so I thank you all for your patience. As I've said before, this story will be finished.

Enjoy the chapter!

Note: This chapter is rated M for mature.

Chapter 56: Legally Bound

Interviews. Life's full of them. Some interviews can feel like an informal conversation while others are an arduous test. Nothing can make or break an interview more than a bad first impression, and we hear our favourite seniors are feeling the pressure this week. So put your best foot forward, kiddies. Most of you are going to need it.

Three framed degrees hung in a level line behind Headmaster Richardson's desk. On one side, an undergraduate degree from Princeton gleaned, on the other a master's degree from Yale. In the middle was the PhD in Education from Harvard. The wooden frames each had an embossed gold plate that was buffed to a shine. Like a museum, everything from the engraved pens on his desk to the leather chair Ozzy sat in was to be observed, never touched.

Headmaster Richardson was a tall man. Even as he sat in his leather chair across from Ozzy, he appeared hulking, as if he always had to look down to see you.

"Mr. Taylor."

Headmaster Richardson set down his file and removed his reading glasses. "You have your meeting with the Harvard rep this week."

"Yes, sir," Ozzy said.

"And what have you done to prepare?"

"I-um, well…thought about some questions to ask."

"Questions about what?"

"Student life. Classes. Faculty."

"So, you plan to interview them?"

"Um no, sir."

The headmaster leaned back in his chair. "Because that's a good idea actually. Most people overprepare. Try to make themselves something they're not. It's not authentic. And asking questions is an important skill a place like Harvard values."

Mr. Richardson lifted his file. "And from the look of your transcript, I think you have a fair chance."

"Really?" Ozzy said. In his sophomore year, his grades felt average at best. While they improved in junior year, a couple of his weaker classes took a dip in second semester.

"Of course. You do realize you've held the highest grade in math for the past year and a half now?"

Ozzy sat back in his chair. "No, I didn't. But I'm sure there are plenty other applicants with high grades in all of their class, not to mention extra curriculars."

"It's not how many activities you participate in, it's how much growth and impact those activities have on you," Headmaster Richardson said. "My understanding is that you have participated in a few extra curriculars, but your participation on swim team stands out the most for the growth and impact you had. You helped set a record for the relay if I remember correctly?"

"And the 400-meter freestyle," Ozzy said. The fact rolled off his tongue easily, but it felt like he was dusting off that fact like an old shoe box in his closet.

"How impactful," Headmaster Richardson said. "I wouldn't be surprised if they ask you about that."

"Yeah," Ozzy said. "They probably will, won't they?"

"Mr. Taylor, I've seen many students go through these interviews over the years, and I always give the same advice. Just be yourself. There is no quantifiable formula on the exact candidate they are looking for in these interviews, so your best bet is to be yourself, and they can take it or leave it."

"That's good advice, sir."

"You'd be surprised how many people don't heed it." Headmaster Richardson stood and offered his hand to Ozzy. "Best of luck, Mr. Taylor."

"Thank you, Headmaster Richardson."

Ozzy let out a heavy sigh as he closed the headmaster's door behind him.

There was no way Headmaster Richardson was right. He had a chance? For a place like Harvard? It all seemed surreal, like he stepped out of his own life and was walking in the polished shoes of another.

He didn't know what to think. He didn't want to believe. If he started believing he had a chance now, he'd feel disappointment when it didn't work out.

Ozzy felt a soft hand pull him into the nearest classroom.

"What the—"

The door shut and the window shade was pulled down. Evelyn smiled, leaning back against the door. "Hi."

All of the fears and worries faded the moment Ozzy reached for her wrist and pulled her closer to him.

"Hey."

"How did your meeting with the Headmaster go?"

"It went," Ozzy said, his nose grazing her cheek.

"That well?"

"It was fine. He just gave me some advice on my interview this week."

"Was his advice better than what I got from Headmistress Queller? She told me to read a good book because they always ask what you're reading."

"He just said to not overprepare and be myself."

"Really?" Evelyn said. "That's it?"

"That's it."

Evelyn wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her body into his. "For once I agree with the Headmaster."

Ozzy leaned forward and captured his lips with hers. Ever since the ski trip, he couldn't stay away from her long. He was forever drawn to her like a magnet.

Being with Evelyn like this felt like a first time in a different way. For the first time, it felt like it meant something. Sure, he still felt like intense pleasure, passion, and gratification overtake him, but there was more to it. He remembered the before and after, and especially the in-between. He felt something intense, primal, rooted in a sense of connection to someone that left him wanting more.

Ozzy held Evelyn against him and guided her away from the door as they kissed. His hands groped her thighs to get her to sit up on the desk.

"I missed you," Evelyn said, their chests heaving.

Evelyn widened her legs, her pleated skirt stretching wide like an accordion. She leaned back on the desk, and she gave him the look.

The look, Ozzy had come to understand quickly, was a look Evelyn gave him was a non-verbal command that needed him then and there, and to not take his time. The look, Ozzy had yet to realize, was his undoing every time. He was powerless to it.

He swallowed hard, feeling his blood rush down to his tightening pants.

"Did you miss me or miss this?"

She smirked. Guilty as charged.

"Both."

He didn't waste another second. His mouth was on hers, his hands running up her thighs and to her warm center. She was soft and supple, and she moaned for him again and again.

Ozzy unbuttoned Evelyn's shirt, and moved her bra straps off her slender shoulders quickly. He kissed the spot where her strap was, moving quickly to her breast. God how he loved how her breasts not only fit in his hands, but the taste of his tongue on them, the taste of her.

And just when they were ready to combust, the bell rang.

Evelyn groaned while Ozzy unzipped his pants.

"Just one more minute," Ozzy said. He really meant approximately twenty seconds for him, but he learned that the same measure of time didn't apply to her.

Evelyn unwrapped herself from him and readjusted her bra straps. "Hurry up! People will be here any minute."

Ozzy sighed, trying to focus on a particularly dark thought to change his mood and erection. "Fine."

Ozzy was straightening his tie when the door swung open. A gaggle of freshmen giggled and snickered. Evelyn's cheeks grew pink while Ozzy ran his hand through his hair.

Once in the hallway, Evelyn traced her index finger down the buttons of his shirt, stopping just before his belt. "So…what are you doing afterschool?"

Ozzy's lips brushed against the shell of her ear.

"If you play your cards right…you."

Spotted: E & O getting hot and heavy in the hallways. Looks like our early spring is thawing more than snow for these two.

The ceiling fans in the courtroom recirculated the humid air like a wind turbine. The blades cut circle after circle, the heat generating a tense electric static in the room. It was early March now, still slushy and damp outside, and although he couldn't tell if it was because of the excess of bodies in the room or if someone turned the heat to high that morning, he started to sweat.

Bart dabbed his temple with a handkerchief that Frank's team provided him. It was white and plain, and yet it reminded him of his grandmother's square doily that was secured with a gold table lamp in her living room. The living room was small. The orange and yellow floral sofa took up half the room with only one coffee table fitting in the corner.

He and Jack spent their much of childhood years in their grandmother's apartment. It had few windows, dark wood paneling, and the air always smelling of bleach, an ongoing attempt by their grandmother to remove traces of any lingering scent of mildew, cabbage rolls, or foot odor.

Bart did his best not to move in the stifling heat. The heat not only brought a lethargy, but if he tried to move through it, he would only get hotter and sweatier. It wouldn't be a good look in the papers.

Eloise stepped forward from the bench. She removed her jacket and wore a soft pink ruffled blouse. Her forehead had a slight sheen and she moved at a languid and measured pace, a departure from her usual pacing in front of the witness stand.

"I'd like to introduce our next witness. The head of toxicity for the New York Police Department, Dr. Harlow."

Dr. Harlow wore a black turtleneck and round glasses that she kept pushing up the bridge of her freckled nose. Her ash blond hair was slicked back in a bun, her cheeks flushed when Eloise began questioning her.

"Can you explain the relevance of toxicity reports to the jury."

"Of course. At the time of an autopsy, we collect blood, urine, and tissue samples to determine if there is a certain concentration of toxins whether that be a type of drug, poison, or smoke inhalation, to better identify and determine the cause of death."

Eloise walked towards the projectors and flipped through her binder of notes. "Now, the doctor who administered the toxicology report for the late Mrs. Bass is no longer with us, so I was hoping you'd be able to walk us through the report."

"Of course."

Eloise projected a chart of chemical compounds and numbers.

"You've had the opportunity to review this report, so let's start with your immediate takeaways. Is the report conclusive?"

"Not completely. From the report, we can see that there are no indications of toxins that we'd normally see in patients who have either overdosed or were poisoned. What jumped out at me the most were the oxygen levels in her blood. Specifically, there was a sharp increase in carboxyhemoglobin and methemoglobin levels."

"And what does that sharp increase indicate?"

"It indicates that there was a rise of carbon monoxide inhalation, which results from incomplete combustions of hydrocarbons. This kind of rise is common for smoke inhalation victims."

"So from the high levels of carboxyhemoglobin, could it be concluded that smoke inhalation was the cause of death?"

Dr. Harlow cocked her head to the side. "Not necessarily."

"Why not?"

"While the patient was in her last trimester of pregnancy making her much higher risk for this scenario, the levels aren't high enough to suggest that it was the leading cause of death. Those who don't escape fires typically die of smoke inhalation rather than burning and their carboxyhemoglobin and methemoglobin levels are double the amount we see in Mrs. Bass' report. If she was in the building, it's possible she was rescued or escaped before inhaling enough smoke to cause hypercapnia. Although the high levels of methemoglobin could suggest that accelerants were used, and she inhaled toxins from those too."

"Can you tell which accelerants are suggested?"

"Objection, your honour," Frank said. "Speculation."

"Sustained."

"In your expert opinion, what does this report suggest?"

Dr. Harlow adjusted her glasses. "Methemoglobin occurs when red blood cells contain methemoglobin at levels higher than 1%. Mrs. Bass' level was 22% which indicates her symptoms, were likely light headedness, coughing, weakness, and dizziness. The low concentration of CO in inhaled air likely caused the rapid formation of methemoglobin but was treated at the hospital."

"So, before she arrived at the hospital, she was likely somewhere, possibly trapped, in a fire?"

"Objection your honour. Leading question."

"Sustained."

"Does Mrs. Bass' blood tests indicate that her hemoglobin levels were triggered by smoke inhalation?"

"While we can't say for sure, I would say that's the most likely outcome."

"So, while we don't know where she was before arriving at the hospital, where do you think she could have been to cause these symptoms?"

"Objection your honor. Speculation."

"Overruled."

"I don't know where Mrs. Bass was, but it's possible that she was in an enclosed space, building most likely, that has either a fire or possibly a gas leak."

Eloise turned to Judge Williams. "No further questions."

Blair was typing the conclusion to her latest article for Liz's Closet when her phone buzzed on her desk. It was her mother, Eleanor.

Blair ignored it and opted to keep typing instead. Her mother didn't call regularly if often. If she did, she usually left a message, and Blair wasn't willing to disrupt her writing flow for a predictable message of how great Paris is and how fashion week was almost a disaster until it was miraculously fixed at the last minute.

She just had one sentence to go. Her mom could wait.

Her phone buzzed again. Or not.

Blair answered her phone and continued typing. "Mom? How's Paris?"

"Forgettable. Just like every other fall collection I saw during fashion week."

"Oh really?" Blair said. "I thought Marc Jacob's Louis Vuitton collection was quite the sensation."

"Please. The peter pan collars on those dresses were hideous. But enough about that. I'm calling to hear about you."

Blair stopped typing. "About me?"

"Yes. How are you? How are things?"

"Things are good," Blair said. "Why?"

"Oh, you know I always get nostalgic at the end of fashion week. When I went on stage at the end of the show, there was no Blair Bear to find in the audience."

"But I've never been to fashion week in Paris."

"You haven't yet, but you will."

Blair rolled her eyes. That was always the promise. To go to Paris and attend fashion week with her mom. It's never happened.

'How's school?"

"Fine. I'm about to go to campus for my pre-law meeting."

"Excellent…. That's where you should be… and how are things with Chuck?"

"Mom, we broke up."

"Is that why you've been seen with Jack Bass instead?"

Her mom knew? How did she find out from another continent?

"I-I'm sorry. I'm not sure if I heard you right."

"You heard exactly what I said," Eleanor's voice turned stern. "What are you doing with Jack Bass?"

"Mom, it's nothing."

"Blair…"

"I'm serious! I just went to an art show with him once. Okay, and the opera too. But it's not what you think it is."

"I hope you're right Blair because older men like that cannot be trusted. You have far too much to lose, do you understand?"

Blair pieced together her mothers' implications quickly. If she was seen linked by the likes of Jack after dating Chuck, it would look bad not only on Blair, but her mother.

"I understand," Blair said. "Which is why I don't intend to see him again."

"Good girl," Eleanor said. "Besides, your father wouldn't approve."

"But Daddy said he liked Chuck."

"It's different with Charles," Eleanor said. "He still has time to…become his own man so to speak. Someone like Jack…well, it's too late for that. You understand what I mean, don't you?"

She understood her mother perfectly. The difference was that Chuck may be able to distance himself from his father, Jack, and the Bass family name, eventually. While her mother hadn't said so explicitly, she didn't warm to Chuck like she had to Nate.

"I understand you perfectly, mother," Blair said. "I have to go, or I'll be late for my pre-law meeting."

Blair gathered her notebooks and laptop. She filled her tote methodically, replaying the conversation with her mother in her head when it dawned on her. Her mother wasn't calling to see how she was doing. She was far too self-involved for that. She was warning her. She was warning her to stay away from Jack and by proxy the Basses.

Blair watched the elevator buttons light up above the elevator door, floor by floor. Her mother had never made an issue of her seeing Chuck before. But maybe it was different now. It wasn't long ago that she dropped the Archibalds as soon as the Captain was caught for embezzlement and fraud.

But she couldn't give up on Chuck. Not now with so much at stake. She would stand by him through anything, and her mother would just have to deal with it.

Besides, her mother had nothing to worry about. She didn't intend to see Jack again. She got what she needed, a lead and some evidence to take him down. She was all but in the clear.

As Blair glided past the front doors, a black stretch limo was parked at the curb and a familiar face stood outside of it, a blue striped scarf wrapped around his neck.

It was Jack.

Chuck picked up the glossy photo, his thumbprint leaving a smudge behind. Chuck had been inspecting the photo since Blair brought it to him days ago. He looked at it in the morning, in the afternoon, and at night, as if thinking the time of day could reveal another secret from the photo.

The only secret it shared was now fact. His mother had an affair with Jack. Chuck did the math, and realized he was at least a year old when it possibly started. He didn't know how long it lasted or when it started. He didn't know the consequences. Like much of his family's history, he didn't know anything.

The question Chuck had asked Jack the year before suddenly didn't seem so outlandish. While Chuck was certain Jack wasn't his father, he did skate away from the truth about the affair. Had Chuck asked his question a little differently then, he wondered if Jack would have confirmed it or avoid it like his father had always done.

Chuck set the photo down. It was an important discovery. A discovery that made Chuck realize that his father had hidden even more from him. How much more was he hiding? What else could he be hiding?

While the discovery rattled him personally, it didn't quite provide any direction on his quest to get Jack to step down from Bass Industries. If anything, it only confirmed what was soon to be revealed at the trial, its effects unknown.

Chuck picked up the torn letterhead that Blair had also presented him. Black Cube. Chuck had researched the company, noted it's history of intelligence and espionage, but couldn't deduce which services Jack used and to what effect. Chuck was certain he was using it for something related to gaining power at Bass Industries, but he didn't know what. There were too many possibilities and combinations, and the act of exploring each one seemed tedious.

He dropped the paper and sighed. It was maddening. He felt so close, like he was reaching for the evidence, could feel the heat of it an inch away, but caught nothing but air. If only he could just find a little information, a shred of evidence, he would then really have something to use against Jack.

Chuck pressed his fifth speed-dial number and pressed his phone to his ear.

"This is Andrew Tyler speaking."

"Andrew? It's Chuck Bass."

"Mr. Bass. What can I do for you?"

"I think I have a lead, but it's not much."

"Even the smallest of details could be beneficial to your case. What did you find?"

"It's a scrap of letterhead that was meant to go in his shredder. Jack's shredder."

"Okay. What was on the letterhead?"

"A company name and address. Dear Mr. Bass. No contents on the details of the letter."

"That could be something," Andrew said unconvinced. "Anything else?"

"Do you know anything about Black Cube?"

"I've heard of Black Cube," Andrew said. "They're a private intelligence agency. They have some very powerful clients, and they've also used some…unorthodox ways of gathering information."

"Unorthodox?"

"I think they've resorted to harassment, phishing, and even targeting the individuals who they need to gather information from."

"I think Jack has been working with them," Chuck said. "And whatever services he's used them for will lead us to the evidence we need to get him fired from Bass Industries."

"That's very possible," Andrew said. "I think I have a client that has used Black Cube in the past. I can ask about their process or paper trail perhaps. It could help give us an idea what we can look for."

"That would be a good start. Let me know if you find anything."

Chuck sat back and considered what he could do. Surely there was a way to get into Jack's personal files, but he couldn't just walk into his suite or even better, his office at Bass Industries.

But maybe someone else can.

The courtroom had slightly cooled that afternoon. Bart pocketed his handkerchief and sipped his water as Eloise prepared to interview her next witness. A stern, bald man with a trimmed white beard held his one hand on the Bible, the other in the air.

Bart had asked for a photocopy of the toxicology report at lunch. It was a document he hadn't seen in years, over a decade even. His sandwich felt like paste in his mouth, as he reviewed the charts and data while he tried to get the food down. The truth was on the page, the numbers staring back at him, and he could only look at them for a couple minutes. He tore up the report.

Now, he waited to see Eloise continue to build her case against him.

"So, Mr. Moss," Eloise began. "How long have you been an arson and fire investigator?"

"About sixteen years ma'am."

"And what do you do when there's a reported suspicion?"

"I start by collecting evidence at the scene, identify any potential accelerants, and work towards determining the cause of the fire."

"On the police report for this case, it says the fire was caused by a wiring malfunction. What does that look like?"

"Well, it starts with a kink in the wiring. It causes electrical resistance within the wire, which creates heat and if heated enough, it can cause an electrical fire. It can occur in electrical panels, frayed wires, extension cords, and even in damaged phone chargers."

"Is this type of fire typically caused in residential properties?"

"Yes."

"What about commercial properties—apartment buildings specifically?"

"Typically heating equipment. Heaters, stoves, space heaters, and smoking."

"Now, in your line of work, there are signs to look for, accelerants that make the fire spread quickly. What kind of accelerants are typically used?"

"They're usually hydrocarbon-based fuels like gas, diesel, kerosene, turpentine, butane even, and any other flammable solvents. You could use any kind of cleaning solvent that's flammable too."

"Now, in the investigative report, the firefighters concluded that the fire was spreading vertically, and the smoke was black. No doors were open or locked that would normally be in those states. Is there a way to accelerate or start a fire electrically?"

"Of course. One common method is to install an ignition device to an electrical unit like a doorbell or telephone. You could place an open heater near the curtains or overheat an iron."

"So, is it possible to ignite an electrical until that spreads to all the units to accelerate a fire without leaving traces of smell like a chemical, or matches?"

"Yes."

"How long would you say it would take a fire to spread in those conditions?"

"Not very long," Mr. Moss said. "Given the pictures of the damage, I'd say a no more than an hour and a half."

"So, is it possible for a person to install ignition devices on multiple electrical units to go off around the same time? No mess, no trace?"

"That's definitely possible although there is a chance that not all the electrical units would go off."

"I bring this up because no one was living in the building at the time, as there were plans for major renovations. Someone with the master key could set this up, in theory."

"Objection your honor, speculation."

"Sustained."

"Mr. Moss, given the reports and pictures of the damage, what would your assessment be?"

"Based on the evidence in front of me, I would say the intent here would be to trigger the wiring in the units on the lower levels. It would be helpful to have the building's blueprints to plan where to plant those wiring triggers to maximize the spread of the fire."

"Interesting you bring that up Mr. Moss because we do have a set of the original blueprints with us."

Eloise projected the blueprints on the screen.

"You see this shadow here? This was marked with pencil-we already brought in a handwriting expert to confirm that these marks match Mr. Bass's penmanship. This traces a line through the first couple floors of the building. Would a marking like this be a clue to you in your investigation?"

Bart's hands were clammy. He already knew what Mr. Moss was about to say, to confirm what he already knew.

"It most certainly would," Mr. Moss said. "It shows the direct path that the fire spread."

"And if you were conducting your investigation, what would this revelation show?"

"It shows intent," Mr. Moss said. "It shows that the fire was deliberate."

"No further questions your honor."

Later that afternoon, Evelyn and Ozzy stumbled up the stairs at the Montgomery home. Evelyn's hands curled around Ozzy's shoulders, his lips moving from her mouth to her neck, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

"How long do we have?" She asked, breathless.

Ozzy pushed them towards his bed with one hand on her hip, the other crawling up her skirt. "About… half an hour?"

Ever since the ski trip, Evelyn had found it difficult to find focus around Ozzy. Nothing else seemed to matter or grab her attention when he was around. She thought about him when she was in class, dreamt about him and woke in a heated sweat, and would rather be with him now, afterschool, than face anything else between her father's trial to her upcoming last round of college interviews.

Ozzy shrugged off his St. Jude's overcoat and hovered over her. Evelyn caressed his cheek, her fingers trailing down his throat, over his silk tie. She gripped the end of the tie and gave it a sharp tug, pulling him toward her. As they kissed, Ozzy's hands pushed further up her skirt. Evelyn peeled off Ozzy's shirt, his skin searing against her hands.

Evelyn moaned into his mouth when he brushed over her center. She flipped their positions, so she straddled his lap, and unbuttoned her shirt, one button at a time. She watched him stare at her with an intense concentration, his lips slightly agape.

"I was thinking about you all afternoon," Evelyn said. "Wanting you."

"Me too," Ozzy said. He reached for her back, his brows furrowing when he didn't feel the clasp of her bra.

Evelyn smirked. She reached for the clasp between her breasts and clicked it open. Evelyn sighed, her head tilting back as Ozzy's tongue swirled around one nipple, then the other.

Evelyn unzipped his pants and threaded her hand underneath his boxers. He groaned at the mere contact of her hand on him, something that pleased Evelyn.

"God, you're good at that," Ozzy chocked out, his muscles tensing up further. Evelyn sighed into his ear, feeling him throb in her hand.

"Do you want me, Ozzy?" Evelyn breathed into his ear.

"You know I do," Ozzy said. "You can feel it right now."

Evelyn left a soft kiss behind his ear and let go of him, molding her soft body around his taut one.

More clothes were shed, and soon their naked bodies were entwined.

"You know how I can tell you want me?" Ozzy said, his voice now lowered and raspy.

"How?"

"The look you give me."

"A look?"

"You have a 'do me' face. It's hot," Ozzy said, his breath hot against her face. "You're hot."

Evelyn arched her hips to his, her fingers digging into his damp back. She was now growing impatient for her yearning of him, impatient for the waves of pleasure to hit her and hit her soon.

"Ozzy," Evelyn moaned. "Come on."

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"The look you give me."

"What?"

"Tell me what you want."

Now was the time he chose to tease her? Torture her? Evelyn considered retaliating but was powerless to her urgent desire. She sat up on her elbows, her cheeks flushed, hair rustled.

"Ozzy. Fuck me. Now."

Ozzy flashed a self-satisfied look. "With pleasure."

Evelyn didn't have to wait a second longer. He entered her swiftly, thrusted deeply, rhythmically, building like a crescendo, the waves of pleasure growing more intense.

"Don't hold back," Ozzy said.

He lifted her then, so she was on his lap, riding him. He cupped her bottom, holding her steady, and Evelyn felt a new sense of power, control, and connection. She liked being on top, and from one quick glance at Ozzy, he felt the same.

Evelyn was reaching the point of urgency that she was close to finishing but didn't want to this combustion of need and want to end.

"Ozzy," Evelyn moaned. "More!"

Ozzy pushed harder, his grip tightening on her, and she felt herself come undone, the pitch of her voice faltering when she felt her climax. Ozzy came soon after, growling Evelyn's name, his eyes locked on hers.

They collapsed together on the bed, their limbs sticky and sated. Evelyn rolled on her side and rested her head on Ozzy's shoulder. Her eyes drooped; his arms wrapped around her in a cocoon. As she drifted to sleep, she heard the front door slam.

"Hello? Ozzy are you home?"

Ozzy's body seized under her. "Shit. She's home early."

They scrambled for their clothes, as Ozzy's mom continued to call for him.

"I'm home!" Ozzy called back.

Evelyn scavenged for her clothes, slapping on her underwear, skirt, and shirt. Evelyn readjusted her cardigan when the door swung open.

"Ozzy, you won't believe what I found today—Oh, Evelyn. This is…somewhat of a surprise."

Her eyes narrowed at Evelyn, then drifted to the wrinkled sheets and quickly glared at Ozzy.

"Hi Mrs. Taylor," Evelyn said. "So good to see you. I was just leaving."

"Well, it is almost dinner time," Ruby said. "I wouldn't want your family to worry."

"Of course not," Evelyn said. "Excuse me."

"I'll walk you out," Ozzy said.

Evelyn bounded down the stairs, noticing her bag was on the lower landing. Great. That didn't look good at all.

"Evelyn, wait."

"Your mom made it very clear that she wants me gone."

"Don't listen to her," Ozzy said.

Evelyn buttoned up her coat and opened the door. "It would be really nice to not have all of your family members know about our sex life."

Ozzy closed the door behind him. "I couldn't agree more."

"Then how can we do that?"

"We'll find our own place, so we won't be interrupted."

"And where's that?"

"I'll figure it out."

The last two times she let him figure this out, each of his parents walked in on them.

"Hey," Ozzy tucked a loose hair behind her ear. "Don't worry about this."

"I'm not worried. I'm embarrassed."

"Don't be. Knowing my mom, she'll pretend like it didn't happen, so she won't have to address it. Okay?"

He kissed her then, and even though she was still annoyed, Evelyn felt herself melt into his embrace. Ozzy caressed her cheek, and Evelyn wrapped her arms around him.

"Jack," Blair said. She contorted her face to look surprised, her movements slow and fluid. "What are you doing here?"

"You took something of mine from my suite, and I'd like it back," Jack said, his usual light tone was absent from his voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Blair said.

"Enough with the coy games, Blair," Jack sighed. "You went looking through my things."

"Jack, I really don't know what you're about."

Jack took one step closer. His tall, lean frame hovered over her. "Drop the innocent act, will you? I know you took the picture."

"I didn't take anything. Now if you'll please excuse me, I'm going to be late for my class."

Jack blocked her path once more. "I'm warning you, Blair. If you don't hand it over—"

"Jack, if keeping your significant possessions was so important to you, you really should have used morse code to protect them like I do with my diaries."

"You use morse code?"

"Don't you? It's the only way to keep wandering eyes out," Blair said. Blair left out the detail of the need to use a cipher to open her journals. She didn't want to give him too many ideas.

"Are you sure you've checked your place thoroughly?"

"Of course, I did, and that's why I know someone took it."

"Are you sure you didn't leave it somewhere?"

"It's never left my suite."

"I'm sorry you can't find it, but I'm telling you the truth here. I didn't take it."

Jack studied her. He looked for some slip, some indication that she was lying, but couldn't find anything he could accuse.

"We'll see about that," Jack said.

He was perceptive, Blair had to give him that. His suspicions were correct; Blair had stolen the diary from his suite. No matter how guilty she was, Blair wasn't going to give him one reason to suspect it was her. Not now when she and Chuck were so close.

Blair maneuvered around him and hailed a taxi. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"I will," Jack said. "I always do."

Blair turned her back to him, feeling a cold shiver run down her spine. She could see his reflection through the glass, his hulking frame still, watching her, waiting for her mask to crack.

"Where to Miss?" The taxi driver asked.

Blair felt the mask start to fall, but she propped it back up.

"Columbia University. Morningside Campus."

As the taxi peeled away from the curb, Blair didn't drop her mask or shoulders. She wanted to wait until she had a safe four block cushion before that. As they turned for the third time, passing the fourth block, Blair started to rest into her seat. The taxi idled at the red light when Blair noticed a white van waiting behind them. Unfazed at first, Blair pulled out her phone for the rest of the ride until the car pulled up to campus. As Blair shut the door, she saw the same white van parked across the street and hurried to class.

When Ozzy caught saw his mom's stern look and freshly manicured fingers drumming the flat oak handrail in the front hall, he knew he had a lot of explaining to do. Typically, Ozzy would wait for her to have the first word, to list her grievances and accusations, but this time, his mom just stood there, silent. Drumming.

Ozzy looked down at his socked feet. He saw a thick stitched line protrude across his toes and could only imagine what other pieces of clothing was misbuttoned or inside out.

They were treading new territory here. Ozzy's typical response would be to ignore, but what could he do if there was nothing to ignore except silence?

He decided to try a different tactic for this different situation. He asked her one of her own questions. One she asked him daily.

"Hey mom. How was your day?"

"Not as good as yours."

"You had a pop quiz in your biology class too?"

"I can't say I'm surprised. I mean, I was a teenager once too, but I think we need to review some house rules."

"Mom—"

"Are you being safe?"

"Mom, I've already been through this with dad."

"Oh, so your father knows, and you weren't going to tell me?"

"Mom come on. I didn't want to tell him. Honestly, I didn't want to tell anyone."

"Ozzy, this is serious."

"Yes, we're being safe! Relax."

"I just wish you were honest with me."

"Did you ever talk to your parents about this kind of stuff?"

"It was a different time."

Ozzy started for the kitchen. He heard his mother's heels clicking behind him.

"How did your meeting with the headmaster go?"

"Fine."

"What did he say?"

"He went over my transcript, and said I had a good chance and to be myself for the interview."

"That's good." She stared past him, pensive. "Very good. Did he say anything else?"

"No."

"Well, the Headmaster probably didn't tell you this, but it probably wouldn't hurt to mention that your grandfather went to Harvard."

"Why bother? We're not family."

"I know, but legacies matter for schools like Harvard. Just mention it and leave it at that. I've heard one too many stories of students who go overboard and ruin it."

"Why not just leave it out entirely?"

"Because everything you say will be taken into consideration. I just want you to put the best foot forward."

"So, let me get this straight. You keep me away from your parents for years, tell me they're horrible people, but now because it's convenient, I have to pretend like they're in my life?"

"I'm not asking you to pretend. I'm just saying it could be a good way to start a conversation if you need a backup. That's all."

"We'll see," Ozzy said.

The less he thought about his grandparents, the better it was for his blood pressure.

"I know this is your last interview, and it can feel tiring to find the motivation, but don't give up now. A little better focus may be helpful."

"I am focused."

"I think you forget that I too was a teenager once."

"Mom—"

"I'm just saying, maybe you should wait to spend time with Evelyn until after the interview, so you can stay focused."

"So, you don't want me to see her?"

"No. I just think you need to take this a little more seriously. You'll regret it if you don't."

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Not finishing school?"

His mom paused. "If you're asking if I regret dropping out of college because I had you, the answer is still no. I just want to make sure you understand and not take for granted all the opportunities you have like I did."

Opportunities. They had once seemed so fleeting, so out of reach before. But maybe Ozzy sometimes mistook distance for short-sightedness. Maybe he didn't see the full picture, but the detailed lines of one shape without seeing its connection to another.

Maybe he could get into Harvard. Likely not. But he had an opportunity to try, and he would. He would get accepted somewhere, probably to a handful of colleges. For once, in that moment, he could imagine extending his arm toward the night sky, and for the stars to be within reach.

Chuck watched Bass Industries employees push through the revolving door at the end of their workday. The sun had yet to dip below the horizon, a cautious introduction to spring. He watched unfamiliar faces crisscross the pavement either hailing a cab or turning toward the nearest subway station. Chuck waited, an endless game that he was growing tired of.

"Do we plan to wait here much longer?" Arthur's gaze asked through the rearview mirror.

"Yes," Chuck said. "We may have to wait much longer if needed."

Arthur nodded and opened his door to take his break. Chuck folded one leg over the other and kept his gaze alert. There was only one person he knew with the seniority and access to possibly help him get information on Jack. He couldn't believe he didn't consider this option sooner.

A familiar face emerged from the revolving door twenty minutes later. Chuck pounced, and hustled toward a man who swung his briefcase, his gait quick, eager to go home for the day.

"Excuse me, Mr. Montgomery!"

The fair-haired man looked about.

"Charles," Philip paused. "What a surprise to see you here."

"I'm sorry for not giving you notice, but I just had to see you. Discuss a matter with you."

Philip opened the door to his car.

"Where to?" Philip asked Chuck.

"Morningside Campus. Columbia."

The driver nodded and Philip pressed the button to lift the partition between the driver and themselves.

"Is something troubling you?" Philip said.

"Yes, actually. I was wondering if you could help me."

"Is this a school matter?"

"No. I've taken the semester off."

"I would think school would be a very useful distraction for you right now."

"I have some other…personal matters to attend to right now."

"Like what?"

"Bass Industries."

"Aren't you a little young to worry about corporations?"

"I don't think so. If I don't do something now, there will be no future at Bass Industries."

"This is about Jack?"

"Yes. With him as the CEO, there will be no path for me or my sister in the company. It will no longer stay in our family. He took something that wasn't his."

"Have you been talking to your father about this?"

Chuck was about to empathically say no, and to insist that he was doing this on his own terms, but realized he'd cut himself off from learning more information.

"I've told him my intentions. What has he told you?"

"The harassment and targeted attacks. He was being followed, and I suspect blackmailed. This was all before his arrest of course."

Chuck thought back to his conversation with Andrew. Everything Philip was describing sounded like Black Cube's tactics. Chuck's jaw clenched.

"He never mentioned that."

"Oh, well Chuck. It's nothing to worry about, really. It's just a scare tactic you see. When you're in your father's position there are a lot of people who want to see him fall. He's perfectly safe."

"Jack did that to my dad, didn't he?"

"I mean, I wouldn't be throwing accusations out without evidence."

Evidence. That's what Chuck needed, and it's what Philip could get for him.

"There has to be a way to find evidence. Wouldn't finding some kind of trail showing the harassment and tracking to the previous CEO while he was CEO be grounds of dismissal?"

"That would count as evidence. It's just really hard to prove."

"Look, I can't go in there and look for evidence, but you can. You're trusted and have the highest level of access."

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Charles."

"Why not?"

"Because I already have tried that, and it landed me in court."

"Court?"

"Corporate espionage, You may have missed it since you're father's trial has loomed large, but I was tried by Jack for corporate espionage. I was acquitted, but he knew I was looking through his things."

"Did you find anything."

"Nothing that you're looking for," Philip said. "I'm sorry."

Chuck's head thudded against the head rest. He was so close, and yet again he reached a dead end.

"Now, let's say you find some evidence that's enough to dispute Jack's ability to be CEO. I can take it to HR and make sure the complaint is not only filed, but the case is closed."

That all sounded like the easy part. Bringing it forward to HR was an afterthought to Chuck. The hard part was finding the evidence, and it was something Philip was unwilling to help him with.

"You have to understand that I put myself in serious risk for your father already. I tried. I can't put myself at risk again. I can't do it because of my family and for the reason that I can lose my job. If I lose my job, you won't have a helping hand at Bass Industries anymore, will you?"

"I understand Mr. Montgomery."

"Thank you."

The car pulled up to campus and Chuck turned to Philip with one last question. "What did you find when you looked into Jack's things?"

"There's no physical paper trail. If I were you, I would try to find a way into his digital accounts. Find out what he's using to make his payments to Black Cube would be a start. Any reports on tracking certain people would also be valuable. I think the best way to do that is to find out which agents are working on Jack's case, track them down, and find out what information they have."

It was a tall order, but it was the only one Chuck could follow.

"That's all?" Chuck said.

"It's a start," Philip said. "Just be careful, Charles. You don't know what else Jack or this company might be dealing with. This could be much bigger than Bass Industries."

Chuck sincerely hoped to find out.

Evelyn fanned the pages of Pride and Prejudice and sighed. She was only on page twenty when her concentration began to wane. Evelyn even reread the same winding sentence again, losing her attention after the fourth line. This wasn't the first time Evelyn had picked up this book, and with her current progress, it wouldn't be the last.

What was it about this book? She knew she was supposed to like this book, the synopsis of the story confirmed it, but here she was, twenty pages in, bored and uninterested.

Aunt Kim poked her head through the door.

"Mind if I come in?"

"Please," Evelyn said, dropping the book on her comforter.

Aunt Kim rounded her bed and stared at the book's furled cover page. "Pride and Prejudice again?"

"It's not going any better this time."

"You know there are other books," Aunt Kim said.

"I know, but Headmistress Queller said I should be reading something impressive, and suggested Jane Austen. Apparently, this is the most accessible one. Now, I just feel like an idiot."

"You are not an idiot," Aunt Kim said. "Because all the people who say they enjoy Pride and Prejudice watched the movie first."

It seemed like an ill-advised shortcut, but Evelyn knew she'd consider it if she became desperate enough.

"So, are you nervous for your interview?"

"Not really, but you know me, Aunt Kim. I get nervous when I'm in the waiting area a few minutes before."

Aunt Kim bobbed her head slowly. "I do. I also know that it helps when you're not as emotionally invested. Less pressure, less consequence. So don't forget that you have options."

"At least a dozen options," Evelyn said.

"Speaking of options…have you narrowed them down at all?"

"Aunt Kim, I told you that there's no point until I start receiving acceptances and rejections."

"I understand that, but still. We went on so many tours the past few months, and you're telling me no school stood out?"

That was the problem. None of them did. She thought she would feel this moment of yearning and belonging. She thought she'd have this moment where she envisioned herself at one of the campuses, a sign for what she wanted, but she didn't have any of that. Her college experience was no more than a blank canvas.

"Not really."

"You're telling me that the likes of Yale, Northwestern, or even Stanford stood out to you?"

"They all were impressive. I just don't want to waste time and energy thinking about those places unless it's an actual option. One with admission."

Aunt Kim studied her. "Are you sure that's the only reason?"

"What other reason would there be?"

Aunt Kim stood. "There's usually more than one."

Between the trial, interviews, and school, there wasn't much room to think about college, or even dream of it. She wasn't interested in looking ahead just then. The only dreams she entertained were about her boyfriend.

"Anyway. I just wanted to wish you the best of luck and to let me know how it goes. Good, bad, doesn't matter. Regardless of the outcome, I'll be proud of you for trying your best."

"Thanks, Aunt Kim."

Evelyn rested her head on her Aunt's shoulder, like she would when she was little. Her aunt's embrace was always a comfort then, and it still was now. They reminded her that she couldn't fall, for her arms always encompassed her, and pointed her in the right direction.

But this time, Evelyn had to navigate her own way. She had to figure out how to read her own compass, figure out which college it pointed to. She couldn't do any of that if she couldn't bear to look at the compass. She couldn't look at it, for it meant that she was looking away from what was in front of her now.

Now. So much was happening now. Some of it she wanted to look away from. Others she wanted to run to for shelter. Now was the time to start making important choices, and she couldn't bear making the wrong one.

Blair's phone began to ring as she was in the middle of typing her next article for Liz's Closets. She chose to cover the hottest bold colors of the upcoming summer collections. She was in the middle of writing which colors complement each other when her phone buzzed.

"Mom! How did the fashion show go?"

"Are you alone?" Chuck's voice rumbled on the other end.

"I'm working on an article for Liz's Closets in my room. Very much alone."

"Good. I have some updates."

"What do you mean it was a disaster? Tell me what happened."

"I talked to Andrew, and he told me that Black Cube is an intelligence agency. I think Jack's been using them in some way to have get leverage on Bart, so he could be appointed as CEO. I also talked to Philip Montgomery—the CFO at Bass Industries and my dad's old friend— and he told me that my dad was being harassed and followed right before his arrest."

Blair felt her stomach drop. "Followed?"

"I guess going to and from work. His whereabouts. Similar to what Andrew does, but way more invasive. Like he was trying to be scared off."

"Oh."

"Philip can't help us get access to Jack's office or anything, but if we find something, we can take it to him. We just have to find something and fast."

"Well, I have some updates myself," Blair said. "Jack visited me."

"What did he want?"

"He knows that I took the picture from his suite. I denied it of course, but he's onto us."

"Did he accuse you of taking it?"

"Not exactly. He really wanted the picture back, and for me to admit that I was snooping in his suite. I didn't admit to it of course. But that's not all."

"Did he do something to you?"

"No, Chuck. We were in a public area, just standing outside of my building. I-I think he had me followed."

"What did the car look like?"

"It was a white van. We couldn't shake it for over four blocks. I mean, maybe I'm imagining it, but I was feeling…followed."

"You're not imagining it, Blair. This-this is perfect," Chuck exhaled. "Listen, the next time you're being followed text me where you are. I'm going to loop in Andrew, so he can help us track this follower down. If we find him then we can find some evidence on what Jack's really tasked them to do."

"Chuck, are you sure? If they're an intelligence firm, they're going to know, aren't they?"

They were dealing with real professionals now. No more games, no more pawns, just kingpins.

"Not if we move before they can react. Blair, come on. I have to do this."

"I know you do. Just be smart about this. And careful."

In Bart's experience, denial was the most controllable emotion. Denial never made him feel sad. It never made him feel irrationally angry. Denial prevented him from feeling any emotion at all.

Denial was shaped like a big rubber bin, packed full of all the feelings Bart had in the aftermath of the fire. The lid remained sealed, tucked away on the highest shelf, purposefully out of reach. The emotions ranged from anger, guilt, shame, sorrow, betrayal, and even included emotions he couldn't name all these years later.

There was a time shortly after the fire that he didn't remember anything. Bart referred to that period as the blackout, where every memory was no clearer than black fuzz, and his days were magnified by empty bottles of liquor.

When drinking couldn't contain these emotions, Bart found a solution. Denial. More powerful than a drug, denial brought Bart back to life. His heart grew less heavy. His mind found a clearing through the endless fog. Purpose relocated. Drive restored. Denial brought him back to living, however restrained his life after became, but he was living, more than a pulse.

As Jack held his hand in the air and repeated his oath to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, Bart realized that all the undealt emotions he so carefully packed away all those years ago were about to be drawn out of him, spilled across the courtroom floor for the jury and reporters to prod and examine. He wasn't ready for it. He'd never be ready for it, but all that remained was how he'd react to it.

Eloise clicked towards Jack; her hands linked behind her back.

"Where were you on the evening of May 24th, 1993?"

"I was looking after my nephew, at my brother's apartment," Jack said.

"Were you watching him alone?"

"Yes."

"Why were you watching him?"

"Bart usually worked late and didn't come home until well after eight. When he didn't come home after nine, Misty tried calling the office, but they said he left. Misty asked me to watch Charles while she went out to look for him."

"Did she look for him to bring him home?"

"No."

"What was she planning to do?"

"She was planning to have a talk with Bart. He was always at that new building of his, and she didn't want to go on with being 'a single mom with a ring'."

"Did she say she wanted to break up with your brother?"

"Yes."

Bart barely moved. His back remained straightened; his lips formed in a thin line. Although he looked unfazed like a statue, he felt his rubber bin of denial was violently knocked over, where the memories started to spill out in pieces.

"Where have you been?"

Misty held a white Fisher-Price baby monitor, its rubber antenna slightly curved in a crescent.

Bart rubbed his tired eyes. "I was working."

Misty scoffed. "At the bar?"

"Don't be like that. You know that's where I meet all the investors we need for Bass Industries."

Misty brushed a piece of lint from his lapel and inhaled sharply.

"Do they wear perfume too?"

"Cologne, thankfully."

Misty turned up the volume, thinking she heard Chuck, but the monitor was quiet.

"I called you three times this evening. Would it have been too much for you to return at least one of those calls to let me know when you'd be home?"

"Misty, I was busy."

"I know you're busy. You're always busy. We're all busy. But what if something happened to Chuck? Would you be too busy for that?"

"Of course not!" Bart looked at the unvarnished wood floors. "Look, I told you it was going to be tough for a little while, but it'll all be worth it, you'll see."

"That's the problem, Bart. I can't see it. This dream of yours? You're the only one living in it. The rest of us are stuck here. In reality."

"Just give me a little more time. I promise you; it'll be worth it."

Chuck's wails pierced through the baby monitor. Bart looked at the monitor and then at Misty expectantly. She shook her head.

"Why's he crying?"

"If you were home Bart, maybe you'd know."

"Did she tell you of her plan to break up with Mr. Bass that night?"

Jack leaned closer to the microphone. "Not that night, but she had confided in me of her intentions leading up to that night."

"Did she make any firm plans, like finding a place to stay?"

"She found another apartment in Brooklyn to rent before the second baby came."

"Did she intend to move in with her children, alone?"

Jack hesitated. "I'm not sure. She never…specified."

Eloise nodded and leaned against the witness stand. "Did she ever confide in you leading up to her planned departure?"

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

"She slowly started to resent my brother for always putting his company before her and their family. She would say things like she was trying to make it work, but she could only do so much since he wasn't participating. She kept saying she tried to make it work, until she said she realized she couldn't."

"Bart!"

Bart was hunched over his desk, papers stuck to his cheek. He started when he heard the doorknob hit the wall. He peeled his heavy head from the desk slowly, his eyes blinking into focus. Misty had her arms folded tightly over her chest; her brows knitted.

"Wake up."

Bart looked at his watch. It was morning. Saturday morning. Several bottles of empty beer were littered on the desk.

"Misty. Where's Chuck?"

"Home. Where his father should be."

She picked up the empty bottles and set them down. She looked at him with a level of disappointment that Bart would never forget. "Is this what working looks like?"

"I was working late, and I fell asleep."

"While you were sleeping, I went out to get some diapers for Chuck, and my credit card wouldn't work. I called the bank, and learned that our personal credit card was maxed out?"

Bart rubbed his sore eyes. "How much do you need?"

"That's not the point. Bart. What's going on? Are we…in financial trouble? Because if we are, I should have a right to know about it."

"We're fine. It's the end of the month. I'll have everything filled up again in a couple days."

"I don't like living like this, Bart."

Bart folded up the blueprints of the building, marked up with his pencil.

"I know it's hard to see right now, but this is short term. Trust me."

"I wanted to trust you Bart, but I just can't anymore. How can I trust you when I barely ever see you? I don't think I can do this anymore…"

"From what you've outlined Mr. Bass, it seems like you and Mrs. Bass were quite close. Would she have considered you to be one of her confidants?"

"Yes."

"So, you had a good relationship with your sister-in-law?"

"Yes."

"Better than your relationship with your brother?"

"Yes."

"Would you consider your relationship a friendship?"

"No."

Eloise paused. "How would you define your relationship with her?"

Jack's forehead glistened, and he revealed a knowing smile that had been hidden away for years.

"She was the love of my life."

Ozzy watched pedestrians pass by the bay window of the Settlement & Co Coffee Shop. With its half a block distance from school grounds, it was the most frequented coffee shop by Constance and St. Jude's students and faculty alike. The strong scent of coffee didn't calm or sooth Ozzy. It only heightened his anxiety.

Ozzy checked his watch. His knee bounced under the table, and he wiped his clammy hands against his khaki pants. He was early, anxiously early, for he wanted to make a good first impression. Now wasn't the time he was casually or forgetfully late.

The shopkeeper bell jingled. An older man, no older than his mid-thirties, scanned the coffee shop as the door whooshed shut. His dark hair was combed and gelled over. He carried a briefcase, and his rimless glasses fogged up.

"Oscar Taylor?"

Ozzy stood and held out his hand. "Yeah, that's me. And you are..."

The name escaped him. How could it escape him at a time like this? Fuck. This was not making a good first impression.

"Warner. Warner Bennett."

Right. Warner. Like Warner Brothers.

"Nice to meet you," Ozzy said. "Thanks for making the time to see me."

Warner unbuttoned his car length beige coat. Underneath was a pinstripe suit with a bright red tie.

"I'm sorry for being late. I was held up at the office."

Warner snapped his briefcase open and pulled out a packet of pages.

"It's no big deal," Ozzy said.

"Oh, it is. Your time is just as important as mine."

Ozzy's eye caught the glint of an American flag fastened to the lapel of his suit. "Where do you work?"

"I'm a Finance Consultant at McKinsey & Company."

The title meant little to Ozzy. He'd never heard of the company or even vaguely understood what a consultant really did. None of that mattered then. He nodded and smiled.

"Do you like it?"

"On most days, yes, so I can't complain. But tell me more about you."

"Would you like to know anything specific?"

Warner chuckled, amused. "Just your whole life story."

"You'll need at least a couple cups of coffee for that."

"Just tell me about yourself. I've reviewed your application, so why don't you start with telling me about what's not on your application."

"Um sure," Ozzy said. He wiped his hands on his pants, wracking his brain to figure out where to start. Where does one start with telling his own being?

"Well…I was born in Boston, but I moved around a lot when I was growing up. I've lived in thirteen different places coast to coast. I've lived in small towns, a couple subdivisions, and a few cities."

"You probably have seen more of the country than many do in their lifetime."

"Yeah, I never thought of it that way. After I was twelve, people started asking me if I had a favorite place, but I didn't have an answer. They didn't get that moving around so much made me get comfortable with being…uncomfortable. Anytime I got comfortable in a place and found that I liked it for one reason or another, it was time to move again. It was better not to get attached."

"It must have felt like a constant uprooting."

"Yeah," Ozzy said. "But it wasn't all bad. Living in different places broadened my perspective and experiences. But nothing is more daunting than starting something new, and I had to keep starting over whether I liked it or not. I will say that I've definitely learned how to pack my bag in a moment's notice which has really come in handy."

"That's a very important life skill to have," Warner said. "So, tell me Oscar. What are you interested in potentially studying at college?"

This question he prepared for. It was one of the most common questions that he was told to expect for this interview, and after his mom's advice on mentioning his grandfather, Ozzy had to rethink his answer.

"I think the most obvious answer from my transcript is math. I enjoy it, but I do prefer to work in the application of math to other subjects. My plan is to take a few applied math courses in first year to see which one I'd like to major in. My current plan is either applied math or statistics."

"The Harvard Math faculty is one of the best in the country. I would know."

"You studied math?"

"Applied math. And I can guarantee that math is useful after school, even for a consulting job."

"That's reassuring because I've had my doubts on the usefulness of integration."

"It's the problem solving and critical thinking skills that are transferable, but that takes time and perspective to appreciate. Tell me, what's the most negative experience you've ever had in school?"

This threw Ozzy for a loop. Negative experience? He thought he was supposed to be selling how great he was, not tell them his worst moment. There were several experiences he knew he could choose from, but only one was coming to mind, but it was risky to reveal.

"I would say my most negative experience happened last year. I was a member of the swim team, and we were doing really well. I helped set a couple records at regionals, and we were on track to make it to nationals. At the same time, I was not in a great head space. I wasn't okay for a while, and I didn't know how to cope or even ask for help. I skipped out on one of our meets, and I let my team down. We've all made mistakes in our lives, but that's been one of the ones I regret most. My teammates were counting on me, and I let them down. I spiraled into a darker place until I reached rock bottom and had to seek help. In retrospect, that negative experience was one of the most important because it led me to finding the ability to reach out and accept the help I needed. I'm now in a much better place mentally. I can see clearly what I want, but I will always regret that my own actions had consequences for my swim teammates."

Warner didn't immediately respond, which made Ozzy think that he had said the wrong answer.

"Thank you for sharing that story with me," Warner finally said. "Do you have any ambition to pursue swimming at a college level?"

"No," Ozzy said. "I've never been a competitive swimmer up until last year. It's always been one of my favorite hobbies. I enjoy it, but I'd prefer to focus my attention on academics while still having time to join new clubs and teams on campus. I toured Harvard in the fall, and they really hyped-up life on campus. I know by being on the team what kind of commitment that is, and I want to devote that commitment elsewhere."

"There are plenty of clubs, teams, and societies to choose from, take it from me," Warner said. "What do you like to do for fun outside of school?"

"Other than swimming, I do like other sports. Racquet sports like squash. I also invested some time with the robotics club, was recruited for mathletes. And honestly, I like spending time exploring the city. Over the summer, I walked almost 500 miles exploring every neighborhood and trying out each ice cream shop when they popped up on each route."

"Which ice cream shop was the best?"

"Morgenstern's. That part of the walking tour was more of my girlfriend's idea."

"There are far worse ideas."

"Agreed."

Warner asked a few more curveball questions including the dreaded 'what are you reading?' question which Ozzy answered with ease: The Economist weekly(Thanks to Philip's subscription that he never had time to read), and The Alchemist.

After asking his questions about student life, favorite classes, and best memories on campus, Warner asked, "Do you have any more questions for me?"

"Yeah. Did you attend St. Jude's?"

Warner smiled. "Yes, I did."

"Do you miss it? Your school days, I mean."

"Occasionally. I'll admit adulthood isn't always what it's cracked up to be, but life goes on after college. I know applying and admitting to colleges is consequential right now, but life will go on after you finish school."

"Well, it's been a pleasure getting to know more about you Oscar." Warner offered his hand.

"Thank you for your time." Ozzy stood and watched him button up his coat and stuff his scribbled papers back in his briefcase.

"Best of luck with your applications."

As soon as the door jingled, Ozzy dropped his waving hand and collapsed on his chair, relieved that his last interview was over, yet unsure if it was at all good enough.

The beauty of denial was that even if someone could be telling you the truth, you could convince yourself so thoroughly that the truth is indeed false. For years, Bart had convinced himself that Misty didn't have an affair with Jack. He believed his denial as gospel truth and blocked out the memories that proved otherwise. It served him well until this moment when camera shutters started clicking, pens scratched paper, and whispers crashed like waves along the benches behind him.

Frank stood, taking his time before beginning his cross-examination of Jack.

"Mr. Bass, this morning you said that you were watching your nephew on the night of the fire, alone. When did he fall asleep?"

"His bedtime was eight thirty, and he fell asleep then."

"Then what did you do?"

"I waited. Watched TV."

"What did you watch?"

"A basketball game."

"Who was playing?"

"Seattle Supersonics with the Phoenix Suns. First game in the series."

"Who won?"

"Phoenix Suns."

"After the game ended, which would be around ten, what did you do?"

"I waited up for Misty. I think I watched Northern Exposure."

"Were you worried that Misty hadn't returned?"

"Yes. I started to worry around ten thirty. Then eleven came. I went to sleep and woke up to a call from Bart at the hospital around eight. He told me to come and to bring Chuck."

"You weren't concerned enough to go to sleep?"

"It took me a while to get to sleep."

"When did you fall asleep?"

"Sometime after midnight."

"And then your brother called you in the morning to come to the hospital."

"Yes."

"Did you go?"

"Immediately."

After asking a few more pointed questions to catch Jack in a lie to cause doubt, Frank shuffled a few papers.

"Were you at all involved with Bass Industries?"

"I was at the beginning, but my brother didn't want me to get too involved."

Bart wanted to stand and object and to explain. Yes, he turned down Jack from joining Bass Industries then, but he had a good reason. He knew Jack. If he joined, he'd drop out of school to follow Bart's lead. At that time, there was no guarantee that Bass Industries would succeed, and Jack was getting too caught up in the idea of it to have been able to handle a possible failure of its launch. Besides, Bart was certain that if Jack abandoned school for Bass Industries and the company didn't survive, he wouldn't have gone back to school.

"Did he say you couldn't join Bass Industries."

Jack shrugged. "Yes. He said I was too young. But he always liked to have complete control over things. I don't think he trusted me."

Wrong again. It wasn't that Bart didn't trust him; he didn't trust his ability to be disciplined and patient enough to help build Bass Industries while finishing his final year of school.

"Were you resentful that your brother didn't include you?"

Jack paused, calculating his answer. "A little bit, I suppose."

"Did you ever visit his building?"

Jack shrugged. "A couple times."

"Did you go inside the building?"

"Yes."

"When was the last time you visited the building?"

"May 22nd, 1993."

"Why did you visit the building?"

"Misty got a call from Bart saying he left some paperwork behind, and he needed them delivered to the site. He was meeting with the architect to discuss the new building designs."

"Where did this meeting occur in the building?"

"In the front foyer."

"Did you deliver what Mr. Bass needed and left?"

"Yes."

"Did you leave immediately, or did you linger?"

"I stayed for a few minutes because I didn't want to interrupt the meeting."

Frank took a few moments to whip through a few pages in one of his binders, looking to explore a new angle.

"You said that Mrs. Bass was the love of your life. When did your relationship become sexual?"

"Fall 1992. November. But it didn't fully begin until December."

"Did you consummate your relationship with Mrs. Bass?"

"Yes."

"When was the first occasion?"

"November nineteen ninety-two."

"Almost nine months before May 24th?"

"Yes."

"Did you know if your consummation resulted in pregnancy?"

"No."

Bart could see it now. The tabloids were already written, scandal plastered over the front pages of newspapers. It was something denial prevented him from giving credence too, and for good reason. His hands were clammy, and he could taste bile at the back of his throat.

Frank continued to cross examine Jack for another half hour. Bart was busy trying to conjure up an image of Evelyn, look to see if her features revealed what he always feared. What kept him away for so many years.

"You also said you knew that Mrs. Bass was going to move out. Were you going to move out with her?

"She didn't make that clear."

"So she was not intending to leave Mr. Bass to be with you."

"I assumed that was what would happen."

"But you can't confirm that?"

"No, I can't."

"But you can confirm that the child Misty's carried the night of the fire could have been yours."

"Yes."

It looks like the Basses like to keep more than money in the family. Who's your daddy, E? Real daddy, that is?

Evelyn waited outside the Constance Conference Room. It was a room that was often used for parent-teacher conferences or prospective parents meeting with the Headmaster, yet it was a room Evelyn had yet to spend time in. She'd only pass the room and noted it's mahogany wainscotting, leather club chairs, emerald wallpaper, and fresh fruit centered on the table. Once, Evelyn heard from a guided tour that the wood paneling was original to the building.

Evelyn folded her cold fingers in her lap. She had already completed half a dozen interviews, and yet, she still remained nervous. Her heart pounded and her cold hands grew clammy.

Evelyn glanced at the clock once more. It was a couple minutes after four, and Evelyn wondered how much longer she'd have to wait. She'd been waiting all day for this meeting, and her patience had waned. She longed for the relief of finishing her last college interview at last, the weight to lift from her shoulders.

As Evelyn continued to wait, her phone buzzed. Eager to do something while she waited, Evelyn fished her phone out of her tote and saw there was a message from Gossip Girl.

It looks like the Basses like to keep more than money in the family. Who's your daddy, E? Real daddy, that is?

Attached was a breaking news story from the trial. Her father and uncle were pictured in opposing shots, with a headline "AFFAIR REVEALED IN BASS TRIAL."

"What…" Evelyn said as she scrolled to read the entire news story.

The more she read, the stronger the denial defied what she was reading.

Evelyn was grateful that she was seated because it felt like the polished wood floor began to shake. The hand that held onto her phone began to tremble; her vision blurred. Her other hand reached for the locket around her neck, the picture of her mother she looked to with such certainty and reverence, made her feel ill.

"Evelyn Bass?"

A tall woman with red rimmed glasses and brown curly hair appeared from the conference room.

"Are you Evelyn Bass?"

Was she? Her name remained the same, but her story was now different. She no longer knew what that meant.

"Um…yes. That's me."

"My apologies for being late. Come on in, so we can get better acquainted. My name is Victoria by the way. Victoria Townsend."

Evelyn nodded and shuffled through the door in a daze. Her memorized answers faded, shoulders slumped, and her focus skewed.

"I must say, I was very impressed with your application."

The leather cushioning squeaked as Evelyn shifted her posture to sit up as tall as she could. The muscle underneath her right shoulder blade started to throb.

"Thank you."

"It's not every day you see someone take such a keen interest in the sciences. What drew you to that discipline?"

Ever since she'd declared that she wanted to be a doctor, Evelyn always had an answer prepared for this question. It was simple, and many found it noble, sympathetic even. But she couldn't bring herself to say the answer because it no longer could be true. Everything she thought she knew about herself might not be true.

Evelyn reached for locket around her neck and tugged at the chain.

"Umm…" Evelyn said. The word was caught in the back of her throat.

Mother.

Her mother drew her to the sciences. Never spoken a word to her, much less be held by her, her mother drove the determination to pursue the medical sciences. She wanted to save people like her mother who couldn't be saved.

"It's perfectly normal to be nervous," Victoria said. "Why don't we start with you telling me a bit about yourself…"

Herself. What did that possibly mean now? Was everything about her life a lie, beginning with her conception? Her heart raced at the thought, her legs twitching. The room suddenly felt hot, the dark paneled walls closing in.

"I'm sorry, but I can't answer that right now."

Victoria's brows crinkled. "Why not?"

Evelyn stood suddenly. "I-I'm sorry to have wasted your time, but I-I have to go."

She ran. Her shoes echoed through the deserted halls, as she sprinted through the front doors and down the front steps.

Blair noticed the white van before she even stepped foot in the cab. Had she not known about Black Cube, it would have been hard to notice. With the busy streets, and roads packed with taxis, cars, and loading tricks, it would have been easy to overlook.

She texted Chuck immediately and waited. She changed her end destination to keep the van following her longer. Block after block, she watched the van follow a couple cars back, speeding up and breaking at a safe distance. Then, her driver took a turn, and the van didn't follow.

"Wait!" Blair said. "Please pull over here."

They car idled, but the van didn't reappear. Blair even got out of the car and checked the intersection. No white van was in sight.

Blair dialed the phone number titled 'MOM' and held it to her ear.

"We're a couple blocks away."

"Don't rush," Blair said. "I lost him."

"You lost him? I thought it was the other way around."

"He decided I wasn't worth following anymore."

Chuck was silent on the other end.

"I'm sorry, Chuck," Blair said. "We'll just have to try again."

"It's fine."

"Why don't we meetup to regroup?"

"You have class."

'It's fine. Joy will share her notes."

They met up on campus. They arrived separately to different buildings that had a concealed walkway that connected both buildings together. Once inside, they found an empty classroom, shut the blinds, and sat down.

Chuck leaned back in the professor's chair, his chin in his hand. "I'm going to have to be on call until we can get to this van. I'll take shifts between myself and Andrew. It's the only way."

The task was like trying to catch a buzzing fly with your fingers. The van was always on the move, and they didn't know when the van would buzz in a different direction.

Blair pulled out her phone and checked her messages. She saw a blast from Gossip Girl and clicked on it. There was a new development about Bart's case. Blair's hand flew to her mouth when she read the article. Jack was testifying and admitting to the affair.

"What is it?"

Blair turned the phone to Chuck and watched him read. His gaze didn't shift or exclaim. He set the phone down calmy.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. I suspected this news would be brought up. It is salacious."

And then it struck her. Maybe it wasn't the only way.

"Chuck."

He rubbed his eyes. "Yes."

"Do we know for sure that Bart is Evelyn's father?"

"Of course."

"But are you sure?"

"Blair. I think I would know if my sister wasn't my sister."

"I understand, but we don't know what happened all those years ago. You were a small child. You don't really know what happened."

"I agree which is why we shouldn't be speculating."

"Chuck, just think about it. What if you go with Evelyn to get a paternity test?"

"Forget it."

"Doesn't she deserve to know for sure after this blew up so publicly? From the sounds of it, the court may require it."

"Why are you pushing this so hard?"

"I just think you need to step up and be there for her, and if some…new information comes out of it, it could be used."

Chuck locked eyes with Blair. "You have a new plan."

"It's just another lead. Instead of waiting to hunt down this van, maybe we can find another way into Jack's inner circle."

Chuck watched students cross the campus outside the window as he considered the implications of what Blair said.

"The only way into Jack's inner circle is if Evelyn is Jack's daughter," Chuck said.

"Exactly. Until we have the results, we can't move the plan forward any more. Even if Evelyn isn't Jack's, it could be used as a good diversion."

Chuck took a long pause. He looked troubled, unsure of this plan.

"Let's do it."

The downside of denial is that even when the truth confronts it, shatters it in front of your very eyes, you still want to believe otherwise. You can cling on to the hope, and a part of the denial will linger as doubt.

Bart's back hunched as he watched the numbers flash upward and felt the pressure of gravity push him down. He opened his briefcase, twisted open a flask and held it to his lips. Only two drops sputtered out, drying on his salivating tongue.

The penthouse was quiet, the lights switched off. It was better this way. No need to face or explain anything to anyone. Bart neared the bar cart when one of the lamps flickered on.

Kim sat on one of the armchairs. She wore a black suit, one ankle crossed behind the other. She held her chin in her hand, her eyes puffy.

"Did you know?" Kim said, her voice raspy.

Bart poured himself a drink. "Not until that night."

"I'm sorry."

Bart drained his glass and refilled it. "Why would you be sorry?"

"Because I knew."

Bart turned. "You knew?"

"Why did you think Misty and I had a falling out?"

Bart stared at her. "I always thought you disliked me."

Kim rose and walked toward him. "I disliked your brother more."

"Must have been a close contest."

Kim reached for an empty glass. "Not as close as you think."

Bart poured her a drink.

"Did you ever tell the kids?" Kim asked.

"Do you think I should have?"

Kim looked at her glass. "I wouldn't."

"Well, I didn't, so we're both wrong for once."

Bart took his glass to the couch and sat down. The last thing he expected was to be consoled by Kim during a time like this. Kim, whom he was cordial with due to his marriage, was now the only person he could turn to. Who would have thought that the thing that drove them apart had brought them back together?

"I didn't realize how much they hurt you."

Bart kept his gaze on the shaggy rug.

"I don't think she loved him, you know," Kim said.

Bart remained silent.

"Bart? Did you hear what I said?"

Bart took a drink.

"She didn't love him. She wasn't leaving you to be with him."

"She still left me."

All she had to do was wait just a little bit longer. Wait for Bass Industries to rebound, and she'd be with him right now, with their kids as a family, happy. She'd have anything she could want, access anything she'd need. Anything.

"She wouldn't have if you were there for her," Kim said. "Bart, you weren't innocent in this too, you know."

No, he wasn't. That he was willing to admit to himself.

"I was doing it for her. For our family."

"Was it worth it?"

When Bart was in denial, his answers were immediate and sharp. They were said with authority, and no one questioned him otherwise. It made him feel in command and certain. No doubt clouded his denial state of mind. His denial was truth.

For the first time, his denial faltered. He didn't respond immediately, but he took a long pause of contemplation.

"I don't know."

Ozzy flung his backpack onto the couch when he arrived in the hotel suite. He parted the sheer curtains to see a balcony and a majestic view of the Hudson River.

Ozzy rubbed his hands together as he took in the suite. The bed was neatly made with crisp white linens, the couch and sitting area clean and inviting.

After the stresses of today's interviews, Ozzy was looking forward to the festivities to follow. On the way over to the hotel, he started envisioning the new carnal pleasures he wanted to explore with Evelyn…this time without any interruption.

Ozzy checked his watch for the time. Evelyn should be arriving at any moment. Ozzy then popped a tic tac and checked his phone for messages. He saw one from Gossip Girl and ignored it. He noticed that when he ignored her messages, he felt significantly lighter. He didn't want anything to dampen his good mood.

Ozzy loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons. He sunk into the couch and reached for his phone again out of boredom when he heard a knock at the door.

Ozzy grinned and sprang to his feet. He swallowed his tic tac and swung the door open without looking into the peephole first.

Evelyn stood before him with streaks of mascara running down her teary face. He pulled her inside.

"What's wrong?" Ozzy's grip on her wrist tightened.

Evelyn shook her head and collapsed into him. Ozzy wrapped his arms around her as she cried harder, her lean frame shaking like a leaf.

"The interview," She choked out.

"What about the interview?"

"I blew it." Evelyn pulled way, her face crumpling. "I'm sorry."

"What happened?"

Ozzy guided her to the couch. Although his voice was strong and stern, he was worried. He'd never seen Evelyn so distraught and…afraid.

"The trial. There was a development with the trial."

"What was it?"

"My Uncle Jack took the stand. And he…he said…"

"He said what?"

"He had an affair with my mother."

She waited for his reaction, but it was delayed. He was trying to piece together what this meant for her.

"I don't understand. When?"

"When she was married to my—his brother. Now, it's going to be all over the headlines."

Ozzy rubbed soothing circles on her lower back. "They can talk all they want, but you don't have to listen to any of that noise."

"I know," Evelyn sniffled. "It's just…This means something else…for me."

"Like what?"

Evelyn took a deep breath, her ragged breaths evening slightly. She turned to him; her icy blue eyes panicked; forehead creased.

"I don't know who my real father is."

It looks like Mother Dearest wasn't sugar and spice and everything nice after all. Who's your daddy, E? Big Bad Bart or Uncle Jack? Or should we say Father Jack?

You Know You Love Me,

XOXO Gossip Girl

A/N: And there you have it! Bart's past is catching up with him, we finally are learning what happened that night, Chuck and Blair find a new lead, and Evelyn is rocked by the trial's revelations.

So what's next? The next chapter is titled: I, Bartholomew. It's time for Bart to take the stand where more flashbacks come back to haunt him...

So what did you think? Let me know in a review!

Till next time,

XOXO EZ11