Saving Her Billionaire Vigilante

One Piper Powell             To some people, it looked like I’d won the lottery. Or been transported into a fairytale. They didn’t see the catch 22. On December 31st, 2010 my parents were killed in the Tanager building. If you believed the news and media outlets, it was caused by the secret society known as Rosa Nigrum. The Black Rose. A group of corporations that caused terrible things to happen to better their positions in the world.             But I didn’t believe that. Because Rosa Nigrum took credit for the atrocities they committed. I had no idea who made the Tanager building collapse in 2010. Rosa Nigrum denied they had committed the atrocities, even taking out a full-page advertisement saying they weren’t responsible.             Whatever the case, my parents worked at Tanager as a scientist. He’d died there with my mother at the New Years Eve party. I’d been eleven. When they died, I was taken in by the Tanager family. Adopted.             I remember the day I moved in very clearly. I was brought there by a social worker I’d been staying with. She’d been a kind lady, with blond hair, and a round face named Rebecca Simon. “Now I know that losing your parents so tragically has been very hard,” said Rebecca, “but the Tanager family is one of the richest families in the world. Mr. Tanager worked with your father, and he’s going to take care of you. You’re even going to get a brother.”             “I don’t want a brother,” I remember telling her, “I want my family.”             I’d spent most of the transition from losing my parents to being adopted by the Tanagers crying. I cried when I told her that. I was being moved into a big, intimidating mansion. The Tanagers lived in a home outside of Crescent City. It was about fifteen acres, enough to get lost in. The house was a large, stone castle that had been brought over brick by brick from the Tanager family home in England. It was ancient, and I was certain it was filled with ghosts.             The door opened, and from the house Mr. Richard Tanager came. He was a tall man, with brown hair, blue eyes, and high cheek bones. Next to him was his son, who was two years older than me. Thirteen. They both wore stylish, grey jackets, brown vests with white undershirts, and grey slacks.             The son sneered down his nose at me, while Mr. Tanager smiled politely.             “You must be Piper,” Mr. Tanager said, “your parents told me so much about you. I was terribly sorry about their loss…but now, at least something good can come from it. You’re going to be Ransom’s sister.”             Ransom rolled his eyes, the same blue as his fathers. “She’s not my sister.”             “Adopted sister, then,” said Mr. Tanager.             “Still not my sister,” said Ransom, “anyway, you’re only doing this because you feel guilty about what happened----”             Mr. Tanager shot his son a dark look. “Ransom. I told you not to say anything about that.”             He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. This whole thing is stupid. It isn’t going to change anything. Her parents are still dead.” He shot me another dirty look, then stormed off back into the house.             Mr. Tanager crouched down so he could get close to me. “I’m sorry about him. You see, we lost someone important to us in the terrorist attack at Tanager Inc. too. Ransom’s mother was at that party. I was running late, so I only saw the building as it…. well….” His voice trailed off, and I knew he was imagining the same, terrible thing.             The night that the Tanager Inc. building had been destroyed by a mad bomber no one had ever identified.             “I’m sorry,” I said, for lack of anything better to say.             Mr. Tanager gave me a sad smile. “It’s quite alright. That’s why we’ve all got to stick together. We know about sadness. The same kind. You look after him, he’ll look after you.”             “I think he hates me,” I said.             “Oh, that’s not true,” said Mr. Tanager, “he just hasn’t gotten used to you. Give it time. Now, do you want to come live with me?”             I didn’t. I wanted to be back in the apartment I’d grown up in, with my Mom, and my Dad, and our cat who had disappeared after Mom and Dad died. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. He was the rich man that had adopted me. I was supposed to be grateful, like Little Orphan Annie complete with red hair. Instead, I nodded silently. He took my hand, gave me a small smile, and took me inside his giant mansion.             From that moment on, I became Piper Tanager. Not Piper Powell.             Unless, of course, you were talking to Ransom. Ransom never claimed me as Piper Powell. Even after seven years of living with him. Even when we went to school together, people would ask, “Isn’t that your sister?”             Ransom would reply, “No. That’s Piper Powell. She’s no one.”             Making it perfectly clear to the world at large that he thought that I was trash, and not good enough to be part of his precious family. It’s been four years since I stepped foot onto the Tanager estate. Four years since I looked my brother in the eyes, and four years since I’d seen Mr. Tanager.             The moment I’d turn eighteen, I’d gotten as far away as possible. It wasn’t that I wasn’t grateful for the lifestyle being adopted by Mr. Tanager had afforded me. But the thing was, being there was a constant reminder of what I wasn’t. That if it hadn’t been for that horrible night December 31st, 2010 when the Tanager building collapsed because of a bomb…. I wouldn’t even be part of the Tanager family.             But I had no choice but to come back now. I’d received the first text from my brother in four years. I wasn’t even aware he had my cell phone number. But the text had arrived Friday night.             Dads dead. Come home.             That was it. I packed what little I had into my car, told my boss at the newspaper I worked, and drove the little 2005 Lorinser Speeder and drove to Tanager Hall. When I got there, I was greeted by our old butler.             Mr. Archibald Leech.             He was a tall man, with grey hair, and an English accent. He came around to the passenger side to help me get my bags. “Miss Piper,” he said, “I’m so pleased your home. It hasn’t been the same without you.”             I smiled at him. “You’re nice, Mr. Leech. But you and I both know this was never really my home. Ransom always made certain of that.”             Mr. Leech tilted his head to the side. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think Ransom always thought you were meant to be here, just not in the way you were.”             I frowned, not knowing what he meant.             “I’ll take your bags up to your room. Ransom’s in the study. He’s been expecting you.”             I raised an eyebrow. “The study? I didn’t even think he knew where it was.”             “Of course, he did,” said Mr. Leech, “how else would he steal the good booze?”             We both shared a laugh, and I went inside to the big, imposing mansion. Going up the stairs, I stopped when I saw the portrait of my adopted father. We’d had lunch together in Crescent City six months ago. It was hard to believe that he was dead. We’d gotten close in the years that I’d been there, and I wondered if maybe Ransom had resented me because of it. There’d already been a coldness there.             Once I reached the study, I hesitated. Could I really stomach going in there and seeing Ransom behind Mr. Tanagers desk? I didn’t know. But I didn’t have a choice. I knocked on the door.             “Come in, Powell,” he said.             Always with my old last name. Always reminding me I wasn’t good enough to be in his world.             I opened the door, bracing myself. Standing behind the desk was an adult Ransom Tanager. At twenty-four, he was no longer the tall, gangly teenager I’d known. The sleeves of the white dress shirt he wore were rolled up. He had muscled arms…. Arms with scars on them, but muscled arms, and a chest that was defined from what was probably an intense workout regime.             His brown hair was slicked back, and his blue eyes were furrowed in concentration as he looked over some paperwork. Two years ago, he’d graduated college and taken over as the Vice President of Tanager Inc. Now, he was President.             “You’re driving a clown car,” he said without looking up.             I glared at him. “It’s cute. I paid for it with my money.”             “If you had a real job, you could have a better one. Or take one from the garage. They’re safer, and they’ll make you look more respected.”             “I’m a journalist,” I said. “I get paid fine. Besides, I’m not a Tanager, remember? I don’t take anything that I didn’t work for.”               He clenched his jaw. “You work at a tabloid, you’re not a journalist. You know, I never understood why you didn’t take Dad up on his offer to get you a place at Tanagerfeed. You could have been an editor within a year.”             “Yes, well, unlike you I don’t want everything bought for me. I believe in hard work.”             He rubbed the back of his neck, muttered something (unkind, I’m sure) and looked up at me. A strand of brown hair fell into his eyes. “You are much too thin.”             “And?”             “We’ll have dinner, and then we need to talk,” he said, “the funeral service is tomorrow, but there are things we need to take care of. Your old room has been prepared.”             “Gee, welcome home sis. Sorry about Dad. Me too, bro.” I mocked, and Ransom raised an eyebrow.             “Bro?”             “You’re my-----”             “There’s no blood shared between us, Piper,” he said curtly, “always remember that, especially now that Dad’s dead. Go to your room. Unpack. We’ll talk at dinner.”             “Prick,” I hissed.             He stared at me. “What?”             “You heard me,” I said.             I turned on my heal and stormed from the room. My heart ached for Mr. Tanager, for the man who had served as my father figure during my teenage years. But once he was buried, I would cut any ties with Ransom Tanager. He had never wanted me as part of his family, and I’d never wanted anything to do with him.             The sooner the funeral was over, the better.