Chapter 4

In which Ian travels to America and arrives at Cahill Mansion.

Ian stood up as the name of his airplane was called, followed by a "Passengers should begin boarding the plane." He carried a single black suitcase, inside of which were all he would take with him to America.

Around him, people were hugging and exchanging farewells. He spotted a couple crying and quickly averted his gaze. The fact that he had no one to say goodbye to made him feel more than a little dejected and self-conscious. He had no friends or family who cared about his life at this point. The only people who did care were MI6, but only for vocational reasons.

He should've felt proud. He should've been excited that this would be his first solo mission. However, as he passed the boarding gate, his only thought was of how he was completely alone at this point.

He quickly found his seat. As he put his suitcase on the rack above, his eyes were drawn to the small window next to his seat and the gray sky outside. London was always wet, gloomy, and cold—and yet it was his home. It was the only place he had ever really known, and now he was leaving for who knew how long. A few months at the least, Travis had estimated, and a few years at the most.

Ian's spirits sank further. More people began to file into the airplane, but Ian paid them no attention. He simply stared outside the small, circular window and tried to comprehend that this would be his last look at it for a long time, among his other jumbled thoughts.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is a reminder that seat belts should be fastened. Flight attendants, prepare for take-off, please. Cabin crew, please take your seats for take-off."

Ian settled into his seat for the first leg of a long flight.

The moment Ian stepped out of the cab, he sucked in a breath. It looked exactly like how he remembered it. A memory was floating to the top of his mind, not of when he flew to Attleboro to work at the Cahill Command Center, but when he, his parents, and Natalie stepped onto the grounds of Grace's mansion in Boston. He remembered, oh, how he remembered William McIntyre's gravelly voice reading aloud Grace's will, the gasps when the secret of the Cahills was revealed, the decisive tone his mother used when she said they would be taking the Clue, thank you very much.

Shaking off the sense of déjà-vu, Ian applied the techniques he had learned from the MI6 programs to calm his heartbeat and steady his mind. He needed to get a grip on himself. Yes, the two mansions were similar, but there were also clear differences when observed closely, such as how there were lions decorating the columns of this mansion and there had been eagles held down on the columns of Grace's mansion.

When he was sure he would be alright, he walked quickly down the main lawn and rang the doorbell.

Fiske Cahill himself greeted Ian at the door. "Ian, it's a pleasure to see you again. Welcome to Cahill mansion."

"Thank you, sir. It's a pleasure to see you too. I apologize for the inconvenience of the arrangements."

Fiske waved his hand around. "It's no problem, not at all. We're family, Ian, and I'm happy to do what I can for you."

"Thank you," Ian said awkwardly.

"I hope the flight was alright? There wasn't much turbulence?"

"No, the flight was fine."

To his relief, Fiske sensed his discomfort and waved the driver toward them. "Peter will show you to your room. You'll have a few minutes to get settled before dinner starts. Afterwards, we can talk privately in my study."

Ian nodded. Peter was waiting at the foot of the grand staircase with Ian's luggage. Ian walked toward him and followed him up the staircase.

The mansion wasn't as big as the Kabra mansion. But while the Kabra mansion radiated distant beauty and cold grandeur, the smaller space in this mansion resulted in a warmer, more homely atmosphere.

"The guest rooms are on the third floor," a clear, quiet voice diverted him from his observations. Ian was too surprised to respond immediately. He had never talked to a servant before. In Kabra mansion, this would not have been allowed because it would've implied that the servant thought of his employer as his equal.

But obviously, this was not Kabra mansion. It was time to grow out of another principle taught to him by his parents.

"How many floors are there in all?" Ian asked Peter. The last time Ian had been in the Cahill mansion, he hadn't exactly gotten a tour.

"Three," the small man replied. Ian guessed he was in his mid-thirties. "But that's not counting the attic and the basement."

They had arrived on the third floor. Ian followed Peter down a familiar red-carpeted hallway. His gaze was fixed on the first door on the right. He had stayed in that room once before. However, to his surprise, Peter passed by the door. As Ian got closer, he could hear muffled giggles and words from behind the wooden door.

"Is there another guest staying here?" Ian asked, stopping.

"Miss Amy and Miss Livia are in there, I believe. Miss Amy has invited her friend Miss Livia to stay here for the summer." Peter had stopped a few feet down, at a door on the left wall. "This is the room you'll be staying in, Mister Ian."

Ian cast a final glance at the first door before hurrying down. Peter had opened the door.

It was a regular-sized room, twice the size of his closet-sized room at MI6 headquarters (which he shared with another agent) but half the size of his bedroom in Kabra mansion. The walls were white and bare. There were a few pieces of furniture scattered here and there. Peter set down Ian's suitcase at the head of the bed. There was a nightstand to the left of the bed and a writing desk in the corner with a swivel chair behind it. There was a small bookcase and a door beside it—a closet, Ian assumed. White curtains fluttered in the face of a breeze, exposing a window behind it.

"There is a bathroom at the end of the hall," Peter said. He was still standing in the doorway and Ian knew that he expected to be dismissed. "Dinner starts at five, so you have about ten minutes to wash up."

"Er, thank you for carrying up my suitcase," Ian said, a bit hesitantly. Was he supposed to thank the servant?

Peter smiled. "You're welcome, Mister Ian. At any case, your suitcase was much easier to carry than Miss Livia's three trunks."

"I've learned to pack light." Ian did not smile back, for two reasons. One was that he had never heard a servant make fun of the people he was paid to serve. The second was that when he was younger and his parents had taken him and Natalie on vacations, he had always brought at least five suitcases. Natalie had always had more than ten, Ian thought affectionately.

The thought brought a pang in his heart because after five years, it still hurt to know that his little sister was gone. Even though she had been a brat sometimes—well, they both had been rich, spoiled brats. But while he had had the chance to grow up and see the world through new eyes, Natalie did not.

Peter had disappeared. Ian wondered, not for the first time, if he had been foolish to come. He did not know whether Fiske would help him or even believe him—and there was a chance that Ian might unconsciously offend him in some way and be thrown out of the house. The Cahill household was new territory and the American customs foreign. He had yet to grow used to his surroundings.

Fiske's words suddenly floated into Ian's mind. We're family. The words had unnerved Ian in a way he couldn't describe.

There was a beep. Reaching into his pocket, Ian drew out his phone. There was a new text, from a blocked number.

I'm glad to see you've changed your mind, Ian.

The text self-deleted, and now there was another beep.

Ian opened the new text message.

You have been allotted 7 days for the termination of Fiske Cahill.

The text self-deleted a few seconds after the words had been branded into Ian's mind. Some family, he scoffed. And with that thought, he headed to the bathroom to wash up for his first dinner at the Cahill Mansion.