Finding Emma

That night, I sat in my study, looking over the photographs of my father and Lily. The house is quiet; my mother has retreated to her rooms, my siblings have gone home, and the servants move silently through the halls.

I think about everything that’s happened in the past two days. The Whitmore scandal. Caroline’s revelation. Bud’s presence. The Paradigm is changing. My family is changing. Everything is changing.

And I’m at the center of it all.

I take out my phone and scroll through the files I’ve been compiling for months. I have a list of potential pets: people who have expressed interest in the Paradigm. People who want to belong. People who want to be seen. People who are searching for something they can’t name.

Some are desperate. Some are idealistic. Some are simply lost.

I stop at one name: Emma Vale.

She’s twenty-eight, a curator at a small gallery downtown. She’s intelligent, articulate, and utterly alone. She’s been looking for someone to give her life meaning.

I’ve been watching her for months. I’ve read her online posts. I’ve seen the way she looks at the world, as if she’s watching from behind a pane of glass. As if she’s invisible.

She’s perfect.

I pick up my phone and dial the gallery.

“Hello, I’d like to speak with Emma Vale.”

“This is Emma.”

“My name is Ruth Copeland. I’m a collector. I’ve seen your work, and I’m very impressed. I’d like to meet with you to discuss a possible acquisition.”

She pauses, surprised. I can hear the hesitation in her voice.

“Of course. I’d be happy to meet with you. When would be convenient?”

“Tomorrow at ten? I’d like to meet at the gallery.”

“Tomorrow at ten is perfect. I look forward to meeting you.”

I hang up the phone and sit back in my chair.

Emma Vale is mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.