The price of privilege

The ringing phone cut through the quiet flat like a knife. Kae Reyes wiped her paint-stained hands on her already-spotted pants and grabbed it. "Hello?" "Is this Kalliope Reyes?" The woman's voice was cold and business-like. "Yes, that's me." Kae tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder as she reached for her water glass. "Who's calling?" "This is Linda Morris from Greenwood Funeral Home. I'm calling about your sister, Sage Reyes." Kae froze. Her sister's name felt like an electric shock. They hadn't spoken in three years. "What about her?" Kae's voice came out as a whisper. "I'm very sorry to inform you that your sister has passed away." The glass slipped from Kae's fingers and broke on the floor. Water splashed her naked feet, but she couldn't feel it. "That's not possible," Kae said. "There must be some mistake." "I'm afraid there's no mistake, Ms. Reyes. Your sister was in a car crash three days ago. We've been trying to reach you as her only live relative." The world turned sideways. Kae gripped the edge of her paint table to stay standing. "How did you get my number?" It was a stupid question, but her brain couldn't understand the bigger one: Sage is dead. "Your sister had your contact information in her wallet." Kae looked around her tiny Brooklyn flat as if seeing it for the first time. Paint tubes squeezed and bent. Half-finished paintings propped against every wall. The evening light made long shadows across the wooden floor where water and broken glass gleamed. "There will be a small service tomorrow at two o'clock," the woman added. "There are also some matters regarding your sister's personal effects that need to be addressed." "Tomorrow?" Kae's voice cracked. "But I have work, I can't just—" She stopped herself. Work didn't matter. Sage was gone. "I'll be there," Kae said finally. "Thank you for calling." After hanging up, Kae sank to the floor, careful to avoid the glass. Tears came in a rush, hot and fast. She hadn't cried like this since Mom died three years ago. The same year Sage walked out of her life. "Why did you leave?" Kae whispered to the empty room. "What were you running from?" Their last discussion played in her mind like a movie she couldn't turn off. Sage standing at the door with her bag, face hard as stone. "There are things about our family you don't know, Kae," she had said. "Things I need to protect you from." "Then tell me!" Kae had begged. "We can figure it out together. We always have." But Sage had just kissed her face and walked away. No calls. No visits. Just silence until today. Kae pulled herself up and stumbled to the sink for a towel to clean up the glass. Her phone buzzed with a text from the coffee shop where she worked mornings. Need you to cover early shift tomorrow. Marcus is sick. "I can't," she said out loud, typing a quick reply. Family situation. Won't be in tomorrow. She had three jobs: morning shifts at the coffee shop, afternoon talks at the art museum, and weekend shifts at the bar two blocks away. None of them paid well, but together they covered her rent and art materials. Barely. Kae moved to the window, looking at the sunset painting Brooklyn in gold and pink. A perfect sky she would have rushed to capture on paint any other day. Now she could only think about Sage under the same sky, cold and still forever. The pain hit her in waves. They were twins. They had shared everything from the womb to their tiny bedroom in the apartment where Mom raised them alone. How could Sage be gone when Kae still breathed? She picked up her phone again and called her boss at the museum. "I need tomorrow off," she explained. "My sister died." "I'm so sorry, Kae. Take whatever time you need." Her bar boss said the same thing. Everyone was so nice about death. It was the one reason nobody questioned. Kae walked to her bedroom, stepping over stretched canvases and sketch pads. On her dresser sat the only picture she had kept of Sage — the two of them on their twenty-second birthday, arms around each other, matching smiles. Their last happy day. "I should have tried harder to find you," Kae whispered to the picture. "I should have looked." But the truth was, after Mom died and Sage left, Kae had been too hurt and angry to search. She had poured all those feelings into her works instead. She fell onto her bed fully dressed, too tired to change. Sleep seemed impossible, but exhaustion pulled her under into dreams where Sage called her name from far away. Morning came with hard light through thin curtains. Kae's eyes felt swollen and heavy. For one blessed moment, she forgot why she felt so awful. Then it all came crashing back. Sage. The funeral. Today. She forced herself to shower and find clean clothes — black pants, a dark blue shirt that was the nicest thing she owned. Nothing fitting for a funeral, but it would have to do. The train ride to the funeral home in Manhattan passed in a blur. Kae felt detached from her body, like she was watching herself from above. She had ridden this same train with Sage countless times growing up. Now she was riding it to say goodbye. When Kae arrived, she was shocked to see sleek black cars lining the street outside the funeral home. Inside, strangers in expensive suits and dresses filled the small church. "Who are all these people?" she asked the funeral planner. "My sister was a personal assistant." "I believe most are colleagues of Mr. Vaughn," the woman stated. "He arranged the service." "Who is Mr. Vaughn?" Before the woman could answer, the crowd separated like the sea. A tall man with gray hair walked toward Kae. His face was lined with age and sadness, but his blue eyes — a shocking, familiar blue — locked onto hers. "You must be Kalliope," he said, his deep voice soft. "You look just like her." Something cold and scary slid down Kae's spine. She had never seen this guy before, but something about him tugged at her memory. "Who are you?" she asked. "Beckett Vaughn," he answered. "Your sister worked for me." He paused, then added, "And there's something important you need to know." A younger man appeared at his side, giving Kae a thick cream envelope with her name written in Sage's handwriting. "Your sister left this for you," the younger guy said. His green eyes held secrets and sadness. "She made me promise to give it to you if anything happened to her." Kae's hands trembled as she broke the seal and opened the letter inside. The first line made her gasp. My dearest Kae, by now you've met our father, Beckett Vaughn. She looked up in shock, meeting Beckett's blue eyes — her eyes — as the truth crashed over her like a wave.