Light as a Feather, Silent as the Grave

Chapter 31

The temperature in the suite shared by Mr. Simmons and Violet was bone-chilling. I shivered in my chair as Mr. Simmons unveiled his big plan to Mischa, embellishing how much of a huge relief it would be for Mrs. Portnoy if her daughters' training expenses were covered by his accountants. Mischa stubbornly listened with a glimmer of defiance in her brown eyes. We'd already informed her of the general gist of Mr. Simmons' plan back at the coffee shop, and I could see that she was already antsy to get back to the gym. Outside, a storm was rolling in. Harsh afternoon light spilled in through the crack in the heavy curtains in the window.

"Right now, your mother's paying about two thousand dollars a week to your coach for your training, and another two thousand a week for Amanda's," Mr. Simmons informed Mischa in a tone that bordered on taunting. "By the time you compete in the trials, she'll have spent almost fifty thousand dollars. And that's just this year, Mischa."

Mischa squirmed and looked at the ceiling with her jaw firmly set as she ran the numbers in her head. It was odd for me to embrace the idea of the Portnoys struggling financially. Throughout my whole life, I'd considered Mischa and Amanda to be much wealthier than my family.

"It pains me to be the one to make you aware of this, but my attorney did a little investigative work, and your mother's already about sixty grand in debt from covering your training expenses over the last eight years," Mr. Simmons said. Whether this was true or not, Mischa provided him with the reaction he sought: her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. He was breaking down her resolve. "There's a big difference in cost between tumbling classes at the Weeping Willow park district and the type of intensive training your parents were paying for in Ortonville. I was very sorry to hear about your father's passing, but without his income from the car dealerships, how do you expect your mother to ever pay off these debts, Mischa?"

In a gravelly voice, she replied, "My parents have always told me not to worry about that. It's my job to pursue my talent. Everything else comes after the Olympics." She swallowed hard, perhaps thinking of her recently deceased father, and continued, "Besides, my mom is going to sell the dealerships. She doesn't want to manage them alone."

"Selling the dealerships is another matter, entirely. Your mother won't make a profit. There are employees to pay and debts to collect on leased cars," Mr. Simmons pointed out. I could tell from the fire blazing in Mischa's eyes that her hate for him was increasing by the second. "And what if winning a gold medal isn't even enough?" Mr. Simmons continued to badger her. "Only one of you can win. What are the odds that both you and your sister will medal? You've perhaps been overestimating the amount of money that athletes receive from corporate sponsorships-and underestimating how much the government will tax that kind of income."

Mischa leaned forward to stand. She'd heard enough and intended to leave. I stole a peek at Trey and his expression told me that if Mischa was leaving, we needed to make ourselves scarce right behind her. We were in a city where no one in the world other than those surrounding us knew to look for us, locked in a seventh-floor suite of a hotel. In other words, Trey and I had willingly walked into a set trap. We would likely only have one chance to leave if Mischa rebuffed Mr. Simmons' proposal-if any chance at all.

"Look, I have to get to practice," Mischa announced with authority. "Your offer is very generous, Mr. Simmons. But if I take you up on it before June and miss even two days of practice, I'll be throwing away thirteen years of training."

Violet stood up from where she sat on the suite's leather sofa to face Mischa. She was easily four inches taller than Mischa, and peered down at my petite friend with her steely ice blue eyes. "You know this can't wait until June, Mischa. How many more people will die between now and then?"