There was a knock on the guest bedroom I occupied, and then (with my permission) Shane entered. He immediately threw himself onto the narrow bed on which I sat, half-covered by a wool blanket incompetently knitted by Blanche.

"Ouch," I muttered, lowering the book to my lap and glancing at my brother meaningfully. He pinned my leg.

"Dylan's looking for a dirt on you,' he informed me casually. Then his gaze rested on the packet of mini chocolate chip cookies I had taken from the kitchen to make my reading more enjoyable. Two seconds later he was already munching them with taste.

I sighed.

"What now?"

"Don't make a face, or it'll stay twisted forever. The dirt. Dylan is looking for.

"Why? Because I told everyone about the maid?" I snorted with disbelief.

"Dad was angry with him all day yesterday."

I tucked Leo's dried rose, which I still insisted on using as a bookmark (even though it was falling apart a bit), between the pages of the book and closed it.

"Dylan asked for it himself," I pointed out. Yes, I was well aware that I sounded like a kindergarten kid.

Shane stretched out even more so that his white T-shirt rolled up to show a little bit of his muscular belly where the cookie crumbs were falling. Pig. I already knew I was going to have to clean up after him. If I'd known I was going to get away with it, I would have happily kicked him off that bed onto the floor.

"Yeah, but you know... When you decide to drop a bomb like that, you have to expect that Dylan won't let you off that easily," Shane shrugged his shoulders. He grabbed the pillow that was lying next to him and put it under his head.

"I'm not interested in what Dylan is thinking in his empty head," I said firmly.

Shane gave me an indulgent look.

"Oh, is that why you just looked at the door, to make sure it was locked and that he wouldn't hear you say that?"

I pressed my lips together. That's not at all why I glanced at the door.

"I just warned you, Hailie, and what you do about it is your business."

I furrowed my brow, annoyed that I had to worry about such bullshit.

"How do you even know he is looking for something on me?"

"Because he came to me and wanted me to give him the dirt that I have on you," he announced simply.

"You have a dirt on me?" I was surprised.

"Two, actually."

"Wait, what?"

"I share both with Tony, and Dylan has a dirt on Tony, so Tony will probably tell him one of our dirts on you. Dylan's got one on me too, but I got one on him, which he didn't know when he came to me. And when he found out, he went to Tony. Because Tony doesn't have anything on him at the moment."

I blinked.

"What dirts do you and Tony have on me?"

Shane looked at me as if I fell off the moon.

"Hello, you kissed the blond guy at school," he rolled his eyes, like his answer was the most obvious thing in the world. "And you got drunk in a bar."

My mouth dropped open with indignation.

"Tony can't tell Dylan about any of these things!"

"But he will," Shane shrugged his shoulders and popped another cookie in his mouth. "That's the law of the jungle."

"You guys are going to get it yourself if it comes out that I got drunk."

"Nah. Well, sure, we'll get the shit kicked out of us, but in the end, you'll be the one who's screwed the most."

"Well then stop him, please," I groaned.

"Hm, I'd rather not interfere. I couldn't do anything anyway. You know, because Tony's got dirt on me.

"Are you two nuts?"

Shane tilted his head with a mocking expression on his face.

"I get that you've been raised as an only child most of your life, but these aren't difficult rules to follow."

I shook my head in disbelief, as if I was already trying to get rid of the memory of that silly conversation I had just had.

"You know what, I don't give a damn. It doesn't matter. I don't care. I'm not going to get sucked into your childish games," I decided and began to crawl out from under the blanket. I was going to stretch my bones anyway. I put the book aside.

"But you already did."

I stopped and glanced at Shane, still sprawled out on my bed. He didn't even flinch.

"So what am I supposed to do?"

"Well... if you don't have dirt on Dylan or anything on Tony then not much." Saying that, Shane waved a cookie around like an expert explaining some intricate phenomenon.

"Geez, what a useless help, thanks," I commented with a raised eyebrow.

Shane once again shrugged his shoulders and when I got to my feet, he graciously got up as well. Just as I had predicted, the crumbs from his belly joyfully slid right down onto my bedding. Seeing this, my eyelid almost twitched, but I just clenched my jaw even tighter and walked out of the room, leaving my brother behind.

I walked downstairs to the kitchen, but hearing Vincent's voice coming from there, I slowed my step. I was still enjoying the surprise of my brothers' unexpected appearance on the islands, but Blanche's house was far too small to accommodate us all here. Constantly, I'd bump into someone.

"...see how he hides his face? He had prepared himself. He knew full well where the cameras were."

"That's okay," dad said, "he can't mask everything. Stop. Go back. Two frames. One more."

I stopped in the hallway literally for a second because I knew that eavesdropping on my father and Vincent was, first of all, suicidal (due to my eldest brother's sensitive sixth, seventh and eighth senses), secondly pointless because they were obviously commenting on something I hadn't seen with my eyes and therefore didn't understand, and thirdly boring. I just didn't feel like standing in the hallway.

So I went into the kitchen where Vincent was sitting at the table with his laptop and my father was standing leaning against the sideboard looking over his shoulder at the screen.

Cam shifted his gaze immediately to me, and his furrowed brow and the corners of his mouth pulled down immediately relaxed.

"Hello, princess," he greeted me. "What do you need?"

"I came for tea," I replied, glancing at the laptop with interest, but before I could get close enough to see anything, Vincent managed to minimize the window with a completely inconspicuous movement, because all I saw was the desktop and a few neatly arranged icons on it.

As if on command, my father moved and relieved me, pouring water into the electric kettle.

Sensing that both men were not going to continue the conversation due to my presence, I dragged it myself. I tied hands together behind my back and watched my father reach for the cup for me.

"What were you watching before I came in?"

"It's nothing, sunshine. Work," he dismissed me and waved his hand before opening the drawer. "What kind of tea would you like?"

"Actually, I think you should show her the video," Vincent interjected.

This surprised both me and my father, whose eyebrows immediately went back into a frown.

"But what are you talking about, Vincent," he growled unnaturally, clearly emphasizing his dissatisfaction and anger. There was also a very meaningful look that he shot at his son.

Vincent endured it with stoic calm.

"I am talking about the fact that she might have seen something. There's a chance she'll make a connection. The video should be shown to her."

"Rather, we should probably discuss it, yes or no?" He tilted his head. "Vincent, damn it."

They both looked at each other. Dark eyes threatened those blue eyes, calm and cool, belonging to Vince.

"I'd actually like some chamomile," I muttered, unsure if my father even remembered the question he'd asked me.

"Sure thing," he immediately gave me another hearty smile as he took his stern gaze away from his son, then proceeded to rummage through Blanche's drawer of teas.

"Can you please sit here for a moment, Hailie?" Vince turned to me, pointing to the vacant chair next to him.

I nodded and moved towards my brother with a brisk step.

"I say no," dad hissed, straightening up and turning towards us.

But I had already taken my seat and only gave him an innocently confused look.

"Do you remember the charity party for our foundation you attended a month ago?" Vincent asked, watching me intently.

I refrained from rolling my eyes. Hello, it's not like I have to think back to the entire list of parties I've attended recently.

"Let me think..." I pretended to think about it. "Is that where I got the acid perfume?"

"Vincent," Cam admonished him, even more forcefully, and then glanced down at me. "We don't need to talk about it. It's not something you should be bothered with, princess."

"But I want to talk about it," I protested. "I want to know what you know."

I was firm and resolute, which positively contributed to the image of a firm and mature person I wanted to project in my family's eyes. Dad looked at me with tightened lips, and Vince looked at me with well-hidden satisfaction.

"I'll show you the CCTV footage, and you tell me, please, if the man I point out to you seems familiar in any way, okay?" Vincent restored the window on his laptop where the video from the hotel cameras used to play.

I nodded, settling more comfortably in my chair. I was almost certain that the comments I had heard earlier referred specifically to the hotel video, and, apparently, I wasn't wrong.

I remembered Vince showing me the video from Mrs. Hardy's bakery. Back then I was afraid I would get in trouble. Now I was innocent, and yet I felt uncomfortable, too. It was like I was about to reveal that I had gifted that perfume to myself.

The quality of the recording was much better than the one from the bakery, but this time I think the voice was indeed missing. Not surprising, since in a space as large as a hotel lobby it would probably download anyway in the form of an annoying hum, ineptly trying to convey the hustle and bustle of the place.

We watched the action from the corner where the checkroom was located, where a slouchy gentleman was taking the coats from the rich people who came to congratulate me on my involvement in the foundation's affairs, from which ultimately nothing came out. Well, unless the momentary, one-on-one introductory sessions that Ruby held with me from time to time on face time could be counted as work. Which is, as I said, nothing.

There were people hanging around the dressing room whose faces I associated with those who congratulated me, complimented me, and marveled at my beauty. The men helped the ladies take off their coats and then handed them to the dressing room attendant, who disappeared from the camera's view for a moment to hang them up. I even spotted my back in the distance. I was standing next to Will, who was talking to some men. I was playing with my bracelet. Out of stress.

"That's him," Vincent said, his slender finger pointing at the figure who had just entered the set. I looked away from myself to analyze it.

He was looking down, and on his head there was an old-fashioned hat which brim effectively protected his identity. He had a baggy coat on, which was unbuttoned and showed part of his oversized jacket. He was thin and quite tall.

"Don't you recognize him?" Vincent asked.

I squinted.

"I can't see much here."

"You can see quite a lot," he countered and stopped the recording. "We're thinking he's young. Unfamiliar with the company there, and not wealthy. Something must have connected him with this hotel in the past."

I gave him a look.

"Wait, really? How do you know that?"

My father set a steaming cup of chamomile on the table right in front of me, grunted, and leaned over me and Vincent, holding onto the back of the chair I was sitting on.

"Look at his clothes. That ugly hat. The coat hangs on him like an old rag. The pants are too big, too. See those legs? They're too wide," dad was pointing at the various pieces of clothing visible in the video with a spoon, which he probably pulled out to offer me sugar, which he had already forgotten.

"Maybe he just can't dress well?" I suggested and shrugged my shoulders.

My father shook his head.

"These are not the best quality clothes, but still pretty good. They look tailor-made. Though definitely not tailored for that twit. Wherever he got them from, they couldn't belong to him."

"He knew it was an elegant party and one should dress appropriately, but he hadn't got his own suit yet, so he borrowed someone else's, not to stand out too much. At first glance it looks like he got a jacket and pants from, for example, his grandfather's closet", Vincent explained.

"That's why we assume he is young. Grown up men tend to have at least one decent suit in their closet for special occasions," added his father.

I put my hand on the hot cup. It was burning my fingers pleasantly.

"What if he dressed like that on purpose to mislead you?" I asked skeptically.

Vince and dad exchanged a momentary glance.

"Then our theory is dead," Cam sighed.

"But I don't think he would have done that," Vince said firmly. "Being dressed like that, without any taste, in that particular company, is already risky itself. There are snobs out there who like to comment on other people's outfits. I think if he had the option of wearing a tailored suit to be completely unobtrusive, he would have gladly taken it."

"Therefore, we guess that he must have had no money to even buy a decent disguise to carry out his plan. This is where amateurism shows up," ad added.

"He definitely doesn't belong to our social circles either. He wasn't worried that someone would recognize him. Apparently he was hiding from the cameras, but of the people there, no one paid any particular attention to him. He must have an unobtrusive face."

I blowed on the still hot liquid and took a tiny sip. I had to get my brain going somehow. I was quite impressed with the analysis Vince and my father had done on the video.

"And why do you think he had something to do with that hotel? Because he knew how to avoid cameras?" I asked and licked my lip after burning it a little.

"Yes and also here, in this footage, he disappears into the bathroom for a moment. He's not looking for it, just moving automatically towards it."

"So what, in the past he might have stayed there as a guest?" I asked, frowning.

My father tilted his head with a small smile wandering on his lips, as if encouraging me to think. And it didn't take me long to figure out what he meant.

"Oh," I muttered.

"Yes, Princess, very good. Following our reasoning, our suspect is unlikely to be able to afford to stay at a hotel like this. But he could work there. Or possibly dabbling in some dirty business. This hotel is notorious for being the perfect place for this kind of shit."

Then Vincent fast-forwarded the moment when the man disappeared behind the bathroom door. There were no cameras in it, so we could watch him again only as he walked back out into the lobby, where the number of guests had already thinned out considerably. Most of them had moved on to the hall where the speeches and refreshments were being held. That's where the suspect headed, and as soon as he was out of sight of the camera, Vince switched to another one that was already in the mentioned room.

I found myself again. I was talking to an exuberantly gesticulating Ruby. I was smiling, but I was also visibly stressed. We paid no attention at all to the little table in the corner next to us, covered with a yellowish tablecloth, on which stood a bouquet of colorful flowers in a crystal vase. Right next to there was a beautifully displayed golden tray on which several small packages were put. My gifts. I was looking at them when suddenly the man we were watching approached. He looked around imperceptibly, first tossing his own gift there, taken from an inside pocket of his wide coat, and then turned discreetly and took one of the gifts there. He acted very quickly and efficiently. He immediately moved away. He hid perfectly from the cameras. No one paid any attention to him. It wasn't a big party, but too many guests here were only paying attention to the tip of their own nose.

I stared at the package he'd left among my other gifts, and a shiver ran through me. A few hours later, I was about to open it and narrowly avoid death. Who was this man?

"Then you can see him leaving from there as fast as he can. Still well camouflaged. He must have left the car somewhere outside the hotel grounds," father said, sighing.

"I don't think this is someone I've had a chance to meet," I assessed, biting my lip. I think I'll turn out to be useless, unfortunately. "It's hard to tell."

"Pay attention to his gait, the way he turns. His posture. The way he grabs the package. Vince, take it back, show him to us again."

I really tried to focus. Maybe his movements reminded me of someone, or maybe not at all. I was creasing my eyebrows, squinting, leaning into the screen. And nothing, nothing I could say. I don't know too many people anyway.

"I don't know," I sighed at the end. "I am sorry, but I have no idea."

My father tightened his fingers on my shoulder.

"That's okay, princess. It was probably someone you don't know anyway," he said to me, then hissed to Vince, "Like I said, no need to bother her with that."

I cringed, and Vince replied matter-of-factly:

"Well, nevertheless it was worth a try. In this case every piece of information is worth its weight in gold."

"BA-HA," Dylan rumbled, stepping into the kitchen. Staring straight into my face, he slowly approached us far too pleased with himself not to be suspicious. When we were separated by a small enough distance, he leaned over the table to me and added, "HA."

I stared at him with clenched lips and an inconsolable look. I felt an uneasy feeling in my heart. Damn, I didn't expect him to act so quickly.

"Information worth its weight in gold I have," he boasted, and the prevailing atmosphere instantly thinned like the air on the Himalayan peaks.

Vincent and dad glanced at him without particular interest.

"Whatever Tony told you is not true," I protested immediately.

"Come on, little Hailie," Dylan laughed meanly, "don't panic. We can work things out."

I avoided the gaze of both my father and Vincent. I was just trying to decide if I should go into denial or try to calm Dylan down?

"Leave her alone," father sighed and walked away from us, dropping the teaspoon he held in his hand into the sink. Vince closed the laptop.

Dylan didn't say another word, but he watched me with an annoyingly triumphant smile, so I finally took a breath, closed my eyelids and, finishing my tisane, stood up.

"All right," I hissed curtly as I passed my mean brother.

Fortunately, neither dad nor Vince were nosy enough to ask what was going on. Dylan followed me onto the porch with undisguised pleasure. Once the front door slammed behind us, I turned to look at him. I was surprised by the change that dawned on his expression.

The mischievous self-satisfaction had been replaced with irritation.

"What?" I growled in surprise at his sudden nervousness.

"Belt out," he replied immediately, nudging me in the nose with his finger. I winced in displeasure and tilted my head.

"You wanted to talk, so talk."