Chapter Text
"Marta, Marta! Come over here!"
You roll your eyes, covering the action by taking a sip of your champagne. Marta pauses in the middle of her sentence, eyes widening as Richard calls for your friend to join in on their political conversation. For some reason the fact that Richard would want Marta just now, when they're talking about immigration, to join in on their conversation makes you want to leave the party. But you swallow the diluted alcohol and bear it, knowing that you're there for Harlan and wouldn't dare leave before they even cut his cake.
Marta walks over to stand in front of the fireplace, paying attention as Richard starts talking about how her family was obeying the law because even though they were immigrants they at least came over "legally."
You grimace at that. It's a secret that very few people in this house knew--you, Harlan, and Meg being the exceptions--that Marta's mother was an undocumented immigrant. Had Richard known that, he probably wouldn't be making the backhanded compliments to your friend that he is now.
"I'm warning you!"
You stiffen at the muffled exclamation coming from Harlan's office, glancing back just in time to see none other than Ransom Drysdale open the door, grab his jacket off a nearby chair and storm out of the house. You look back to Harlan's office in surprise, wondering what all that was about.
The Thrombey's are good people, though they do have a few faults of their own. But then again, what person doesn't? You certainly have your own. Harlan's last living son, Walt, is a nice man with an...interesting family. Donna, his wife, is jumpy with a meek determination when she wants. Their son is an asshole. You've barely seen him since the party's started, having noticed him slip into the bathroom at one point and then not seeing him again.
Joni, the wife of Harlan's late son, has been glued to the family ever since she married into it. Meg, her daughter, has a part to do with that. Meg is a sweet girl studying in college right now, and it's because she's such a sweet person that Marta shared the truth about her mother in the first place. Her mother seems like a 'free spirit' kind of person, but you don't get too close to her. She's constantly trying to get you to invest in her skincare line, saying that it would do wonders for your face. You tried not to take offense the first time she brought that up, considering you were not even thirty yet at the time and didn't have a single wrinkle in sight.
Richard, a man whose infidelity is still a secret to the family, at least pretends to care and be interested in other people's lives. His wife, Linda, is a strong and independent woman who is a person to look up to for women everywhere. She can come off as cold, but she doesn't mean anything by it. You know that's just her way of expressing affection. You've seen her be truly nasty with people and know that to be on the receiving end of that would be terrifying.
And then there's Ransom. The son of Linda and Richard, he's just a few years older than you and yet acts like a child most of the time. This isn't the first time you've heard about the two of them having a spat, but this is the first time you've witnessed it. For a while, there was a time when you thought that Ransom was a very good looking man and even questioned the possibility of you two, but after hearing from Harlan about the things his grandson had been doing you decided against it. Ransom was bad news, and you didn't want to get tangled up in that. It's a shame because he is a good looking man. You've seen moments where he seemed like a decent person, but then he would say and do things like his father, and you knew you could never be with someone like that.
Not someone who makes "the help" call him by his first name, though he tells everyone else to call him Ransom. A very prick move indeed.
Finding Marta still occupied with the rest of the Thrombey's, you set your champagne down on a stand and slowly walk over to Harlan's office. The fact that he's still in there, even after Ransom left a few minutes ago, makes you worry. His grandson didn't say anything to upset him on his birthday, did he?
You knock gently on the wooden door, gaining Harlan's attention. He motions for you to enter, and so you do and make your way to your usual seat across from his desk. You and Harlan have had many talks in here, ranging from ideas for his books to personal lives to philosophical topics.
Though Marta went to school for nursing, you went for psychology. The two of you met in a general education class almost eleven years ago and have been friends ever since. Harlan doesn't have the best opinion when it comes to psychologists, but after Marta introduced you to him, you somehow managed to weasel your way into the older man's heart. It's why you continue to come over in the evenings even though you no longer need the extra money from him. You were his caretaker, alongside Marta, for almost two years before you got a job at a local practice. You told him to stop paying you, but for some reason, there was always a small sum of money that randomly ended up in your bank account at the end of each month. You confronted him about it once, but he merely gave you a knowing grin and denied having anything to do with it.
"Whoever is doing it must want to do something nice for you. It's just money, Y/N. Take it."
So you did. But you always made sure to spend that money on things to do with Harlan. Whether it was a new game, new books or art pieces, or even some tiny writing tools you thought might help him with his books. He was basically buying gifts for himself, and you both knew it, but he didn't say any more on it. You wouldn't budge any more than you knew he would.
Being a psychologist also helped him get a sense of the main antagonists in his books, allowing him the chance to look at a viewpoint he might not have otherwise thought of. You quickly proved yourself to Harlan after you started working for him, and it wasn't long before you and Marta were close with him.
At times you were closer with him than his actual family.
"Ransom left in a rush," you say softly, letting him choose to elaborate on it or dismiss it. That was one of the things Harlan enjoys the most about your company. You knew when to pry and when to mind your own business.
Harlan lets out a sigh, fumbling with his baseball agitatedly. The ball is no longer a clean white and instead now a dull yellow, brought on from age and continuous messing with like he's doing now.
"I did it. I told him."
You lean back in your chair with understanding. You calmly cross one leg on top of the other and fold your hands in your lap, nodding. You came here directly from work, still dressed in your purple blouse and black dress pants. The heels you're wearing aren't comfortable in the slightest, but they at least complement the outfit and make it appropriate for a party such as this one. You can't help but be jealous of Marta, that she's dressed a little more casually and obviously comfortable.
"I'm technically working," she had said as an excuse, though she was smiling when she said it.
"Was he the last one?"
Harlan shakes his head once. "He was the first. I spoke with Joni earlier today, about Meg's college money."
You hum, nodding your head. Harlan had been paying for Meg's college for the last four years and only recently found out that Joni had been taking it for herself. He told Marta and you that he was cutting her off. You felt bad because it wasn't Meg's fault, but this would be a good lesson for Joni. Maybe now she'll start taking things seriously.
"And I told Walt that he was done with Blood Like Wine. But I didn't tell them I cut them out of the will. They don't know that--none except for Ransom."
You frown. This can't be easy for him to do, especially on his birthday. A day that's supposed to be celebrated and filled with lighthearted fun--not anger and frustration.
"You don't have to tell them today, Harlan," You remind him gently. You had this conversation with him last time you saw him, two days ago. He was adamant, however, because his family would all be together and he didn't know when he'd have another chance like this. "You're allowed to enjoy one day with your family. You know that, right?"
He fiddles with the baseball for another few seconds before placing it back in the holder on his desk. "I suppose you're right, Y/N. The rest can wait until tomorrow." He mock-shakes his fist at you. "I thought I told you to stay out of my head?"
You smile at him, standing to my feet and walking around the desk to his side. You lean down and give him a hug. "It's my job to get into your head." You pat his back and then step back, pulling a small box out of your pocket.
He raises a brow as you place it on his desk in front of him. "What's this?"
You laugh softly. "You have to open it to find out."
He scoffs but reaches down and picks up the tiny box, pulling on the ribbon and ripping the paper off. It reveals a rectangular black box, only a little wider than a ruler and less than ten inches long. He lifts the top off and sets it to the side, revealing the tiny yet meaningful gift you had ordered for him a few weeks prior.
"Y/N..." he trails off, reaching in and gently picking up the customized one-of-a-kind pen you designed.
Harlan, for the most part, was old fashioned in all aspects of the word. He writes down the ideas for his stories in a tiny notebook that he carries around in his breast pocket, and most of the time prefers to type up drafts on a type-writer. When looking for a gift for him you stumbled across this idea and knew it would be perfect. Harlan doesn't care about size--he has the money to buy anything he would really want--he cares about the thought behind the gift.
The pen is light, only a few ounces, and dark silver. It's filled with genuine ink similar to those used in quill pens and comes with three refill cartridges. You had engraved on the side the words my pen, my ideas, my books, and then just below that, Harlan Thrombey. You thought it would be nice to give him something similar to his favorite coffee mug.
He grins as he brushes a finger over the engravings, holding it delicately in his hand. You can't control your smile as you watch him inspect your gift.
"This is gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful."
"It's just a pen." You try to play it off, but your chest warms at his obvious joy.
"Just a pen?" He questions, glancing up at you. "No, miss, this is not just a pen. This is Harlan Thrombey's pen. The best pen in all of the world."
You laugh at that, pulling out the box that comes with it containing the extra ink. He chuckles and reaches into his desk, pulling out a blank piece of paper and beginning to write on it. He makes a sound of delight as the pen glides across the paper, making a smooth and dark line against the white background.
"Gorgeous," he declares, signing his name with a flourish, "absolutely gorgeous. I couldn't have asked for anything better."
You lay your hand on his shoulder and give him a soft smile. "I'm glad. Marta helped me pick what to put on it."
He shakes his head with a smile. "I should have known you two girls would think of something like this."
"Dad!" Linda's voice drifts into the office. "We're going to bring out the cake!"
Harlan sighs, slipping the pen back into the box. He unlocks the drawer in his desk and puts it inside carefully, along with the extra ink. You step back to allow him to stand to his feet and together the two of you go back out into the dining room.
"Ah, Y/N, would you be a dear and go grab some extra plates?" Richard asks when you walk into the room while barely sparing you a glance. Harlan frowns at him but you hold up a hand, not wanting him to say anything. You didn't want anyone to start a fight on Harlan's birthday. Marta throws you a sympathetic look since she had been handed his empty glass earlier in the night.
Shortly after everyone has finished singing to Harlan and enjoyed a slice of cake, the party starts to wind down. As it gets closer to midnight Marta and Harlan make their way up to his bedroom. You follow them, trying your best to help usher Harlan along so that Marta can get home quickly.
"We are playing it, on my birthday." Harlan stomps his foot like a child, causing Marta to roll her eyes and you to laugh. Every night the three of you would take turns playing Go before bed since it was one of Harlan's favorite strategy games.
"I've had champagne and need to get home," Marta complains, but you can already see that she's going to cave. Harlan waves his hand and instead of going into his room he goes up the next flight of stairs to his study. You follow along behind while Marta grabs her medical bag from his bedroom.
"We'll play one round each," you acquiesce, giving Marta a look to tell her to just go along with it. It is Harlan's birthday after all.
Harlan frowns and holds his hands up crookedly. "It's because I'm getting old, isn't it? You turn 85 and suddenly nobody wants to play Go with you anymore."
Marta chuckles. "No, it's midnight and people are tired. One round, Harlan."
"Two rounds for me, one for you," he corrects her. She shakes her head and busies herself tidying up the small room while you get the pieces ready.
"How come," Harlan begins as you both take turns laying your black and white pieces on the board, "I can never beat you two?"
"You can," you tell him as you succeed in trapping his piece in a circle, "but when you don't win you're a sore loser so that's more memorable than winning."
He pauses, throwing you a dirty look. "Remind me again why I let you in here?"
"Because your life would be boring otherwise." You smirk at him, tapping the side of your head before placing down your last chip. It's clear you've won the game and Harlan sits there, pouting like he always does.
You stand up to your feet, allowing Marta to take your place after she sets his bottles of medicine off to the side to give to him later on.
"I have to get going," you say as you pick up your coat that you discarded by the door, "I have a client coming to my office at 9:30 tomorrow morning, so I have to be there by 8:30. He always shows up early." You walk around and give Harlan a tight hug from behind. He reaches his hands up and hugs you back. You place a quick kiss to the top of his head and stand up, giving Marta a hug goodbye as well. "Happy birthday, Harlan."
Harlan finally cracks on his faux-stern gaze, waving his hand and smiling softly. "Same time next year?"
You grin back, nodding your head. "Of course. It's already marked in my calendar."
His smile widens. "What would my birthday be without you two girls there at my side?"
Your heart warms at his words. You never would have thought that you'd find a friend like Harlan at this point in your life, but you're forever thankful you did. "Goodnight, guys." You give them one last smile.
"Goodnight."
"Night!"
You step out of the study and shut the door behind you before heading down the stairs. You say goodbye to the remaining family members that you see, nodding at Walt when you pass him by on the porch. Unlocking your not quite new but not quite old car, you slip in and crank the heat before pulling out of the driveway. Besides the Harlan telling the family he was cutting them off, Ransom storming out in a huff and the remarks made by Richard that weren't quite right, tonight was a good night, and you know that Harlan still enjoyed it.
You let out a large yawn, looking forward to crawling into the bed of your tiny apartment and going to sleep. You should be able to get at least seven hours which will be enough to get you through your meeting with your client, and then you'll have the rest of the day to look forward to.
"--and then when you see me next week we can discuss how that went, okay?" You make a few notes in your journal, giving Jamie time to answer you.
Jamie, being a man just a few years older than yourself, had been seeing you for the past year about some anxiety issues. He has a big job interview coming up which has been stressing him out, so he's been scheduling more and more meetings with you as early as possible. This one would have been at 8am instead of 8:30, but you purposefully told him 9:30 because you a) knew he'd show up early and b) you would need the extra sleep.
Jamie nods, twisting his hands in his lap nervously. You stand when he does and follow him out the door, leading him to the receptionist so he can make another appointment. You don't have your own practice, not yet, but the one you do work at is still small and so there's only a total of 5 people you work with on a daily basis.
"Y/N! Y/N!" You turn at the frantic calling of your name, seeing Theresa, the other receptionist here, running up to you as fast as her heels will allow her. She looks frantic and the worry on her face only makes your stomach twist.
"What?" You ask, grabbing her by the shoulders and holding her still as she catches her breath. "What's wrong?"
She pulls out her phone and types something before holding it up for you to see. You take it from her to get a closer look. Once you read the headline on the top of the page, your blood turns to ice and your head becomes light.
Distinguished Write Harlan Thrombey Commits Suicide
"Y/N, you look pale. Sit down, okay? I'll get you something to drink."
In the back of your mind you feel Theresa help you over to a chair where you sit down shakily. Your eyes roam over the article, skimming it while not really reading it at the same time.
...slit his throat...
...discovered this morning by the housekeeper, Fran...
...just celebrated his 85th birthday with loved ones the day before...
Harlan's gone. He killed himself.
When Theresa returns with a glass of water you're sobbing before she can even speak.
Your friend is dead.