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mirrored that of her cousin.
    â€œWell, no, I just assumed … your grandfather’s house … ‘And his grandfather’s before him.’ Those were Helene’s words.”
    Pamela folded her arms across her chest. “Inherit …” she finally muttered, then sat straighter in her chair as her voice grew in strength and resolution. “I don’t think a meaner individual than Maxime Verbeux ever existed! His two daughters—our moms—still haven’t gotten over his unkindness … betrayal, really. Yes, they inherited this building, or rather, all four of us did. But that was the extent of his largesse. And he was a wealthy man. A very wealthy man.”
    Neither Belle nor Rosco spoke, and Pamela continued in the same perturbed and angry tone. “When he died, everything he owned—everything except this property—went to his second wife and her two sons from a previous marriage. Maxime was an art connoisseur. He possessed a world-famous collection of medieval manuscripts among other valuable pieces … but he bequeathed nothing to his natural children. Nothing except this house, which by then had become a complete wreck and was ready to be torn down. It was Helene’s idea to renovate it and turn it into a commercial venture—to try to salvage something from our joint histories.”
    â€œIsn’t that difficult for your two mothers?”
    â€œThey didn’t grow up here, so the building has no memories—other than its unfortunate association to a father who deserted them.” Pamela paused. “I guess when you mentioned the word ‘illuminated’ in connection with my installation piece, it triggered an unpleasant connection to old Maxime’s medieval manuscripts.” She shook her head. “Not that either Helene or I or our mothers aren’t proud to be earning our own way, or that we believe the world owes us a living … It’s just that … well, Maxime had so much … And it just ended up with people who aren’t related to the family at all.” Pamela gazed at the ceiling. “But more than the things, more than the money, what truly vanished was love.”
    Belle didn’t respond for a long moment. Neither did Rosco. The three sat while the fire’s cheery blaze threw warm and welcoming shadows across the room. However, none of the room’s inhabitants drew much comfort from the sight.
    At length, Pamela continued. “Our grandfather’s peculiar decision left Helene’s mom, and mine, wondering if perhaps their father never cared for them … or whether their memories of a happy childhood were real or honest—even asking themselves if their father might have actually disliked them—”
    â€œBut surely that wasn’t the case?” Belle interjected.
    â€œWho knows? Helene and I are a generation removed, but the pain inflicted on our mothers was genuine.”
    â€œHow can you turn your back on your kids?” Rosco asked although his question was directed at the air. “My dad did everything in his power to ensure his offspring got a better chance than he. He went without many things to provide for us. My mother, too. It was all about making sure the next generation had more than he did.”
    â€œThat’s because your family is still closely tied to your European roots.” Belle frowned in thought. “But it happens, Rosco. You read about situations like this more often than you’d like—wealthy families being purposely hurtful to one another … If you don’t mind my asking, Pamela, what became of your grandfather’s art collection?”
    â€œSold. Lock, stock, and barrel. Maxime’s second wife and her sons made a sizable profit … Needless to say, the four stepsiblings don’t communicate.”
    â€œIt’s a sad story.” Belle shook her head in sympathy. “I guess it’s not possible that