In a neighborhood plagued by unseen terror, two sisters hold the key to outwitting a dark adversary before their lives unravel.
Ever heard of Fenton Pareto? He's only the coolest private investigator around. But when the Bay Area turns into a nightmare of disappearing jewels, tormented pets, and mysteriously glitching cellphones, even he needs some backup. Enter Charlie and Clarke Pareto, his super-smart daughters, ready to take on the mystery that's stumping their dad.
Think you've got what it takes to crack the code? Then strap in for a rollercoaster ride with the Pareto sisters, as they match wits with a remote enemy who's controlling the chaos like a puppet master. And just when you think it couldn't get crazier, the sisters get framed for a crime they didn't commit!
But, how are the sisters supposed to clear their names while dodging booby traps, weaponized music, and dangerous QR codes?
The Pareto sisters dive headfirst into a world of secrets, danger, and shocking discoveries. This story will have you flipping pages like there's no tomorrow.
So buckle up, detective, and remember: in this game, nothing is as it seems.
In a neighborhood plagued by unseen terror, two sisters hold the key to outwitting a dark adversary before their lives unravel.
Ever heard of Fenton Pareto? He's only the coolest private investigator around. But when the Bay Area turns into a nightmare of disappearing jewels, tormented pets, and mysteriously glitching cellphones, even he needs some backup. Enter Charlie and Clarke Pareto, his super-smart daughters, ready to take on the mystery that's stumping their dad.
Think you've got what it takes to crack the code? Then strap in for a rollercoaster ride with the Pareto sisters, as they match wits with a remote enemy who's controlling the chaos like a puppet master. And just when you think it couldn't get crazier, the sisters get framed for a crime they didn't commit!
But, how are the sisters supposed to clear their names while dodging booby traps, weaponized music, and dangerous QR codes?
The Pareto sisters dive headfirst into a world of secrets, danger, and shocking discoveries. This story will have you flipping pages like there's no tomorrow.
So buckle up, detective, and remember: in this game, nothing is as it seems.
Third Edition Author's Notes
Although this book happens to chronicle the adventures of young characters—eleven-year-old Charlie Pareto and her fifteen-year-old sister Clarke—the following pages are intended for adult readers. Nevertheless, I understand that this and other Pareto books have fallen into young hands. I am told that hostilities in these stories—especially those involving teachers, law enforcement, parents, and other sacred community pillars—could be unsettling to a younger audience. Some reviewers have suggested that this book endorses subversive and criminal behavior. If you are a young reader drawn to delicate subjects, I must point out that the caring adults in your life may prefer you to set this book aside until you are much older. In this moment, please consider the wishes of your caregivers and, given the potential for harm, your wellbeing. It might be best to return this book to its shelf or scroll to the next e-book selection on your list.
On a more upbeat note, this expanded third edition includes ‘bonus content’ in response to reader requests for technical and contextual details. If you want to read the book quickly and don’t want to get bogged down in nitty-gritties, you can skip these tangents. But if you are looking to immerse yourself in the Pareto world, you will want to look them over. I will point out these alternative paths when we reach them.
I remain committed to faithfully preserving the original Pareto family words, without simplification, abridgment or translation. A few readers have commented that I must have misrepresented the Paretos’ conversations because, they contend, people just don’t talk this way. To this, I can only say the Paretos cultivate many unfamiliar plants in their gardens. Nevertheless, I have been persuaded to remove coarse language from this edition of the book to temper parental grievances and condemnations.
1 Flight Square
Like many prominent families who live here on the peninsula, the Paretos value their privacy. You will not find their address on any celebrity house map or in any other public listing. No family name or street number appears at their compound’s high entryway gates. Their staff refuses all deliveries and turns away unscheduled visitors. Fenton Pareto, the controversial private investigator, has never hosted a neighborhood party, greeted anyone walking past his closed gates or welcomed a trick-or-treater.
Over the years, the neighborhood rumor mill circulated unflattering tidbits about the investigator. There were whispers that Fenton was even involving his daughters, Charlie and Clarke, in dangerous cases. These inquisitive neighbors had not yet learned that the Paretos had added a new member to their support staff. This team member would not only support the sisters’ investigation of a sinister scheme but have an opportunity to look behind the veil of secrecy long concealing their family’s affairs.
Charlie contends that the mystery began the day she and her aunt met with the school principal to answer questions about her fundraising tactics and the missing money.
***
Katherine wagged her forefinger at Charlie, supplying pre-conference instructions to her eleven-year-old niece as they stood outside the classroom. The classroom doubled as the principal’s office. While nodding in agreement with her aunt’s counsel, Charlie gazed at a nearby clutch of chatty teachers vacating the school’s central office after a long day of classes and after-school paperwork. Charlie’s faded green, gold and white Oakland Athletics baseball cap mostly concealed her straight jaw-length dark hair, with the bill of the cap pulled low. A dark grey t-shirt and camouflage pants completed her ensemble. She shifted from side-to-side while attending to an itchy spot on her right forearm.
With hands on hips, Katherine Pareto stood erect with her head held high as she looked upon her niece. Her face was framed by a brunette twist, with flat braids on the side and back held in place by two gold thistle-leaf pins. A statuesque embodiment of elegance, she exuded a calm, imposing and regal bearing. In her late thirties, wearing a tailored light blue blouse and conservative skirt, her ensemble was better suited for a board room than a teacher conference. She was poised to do battle.
“Charlie, since you’ve lost your voice again, you can just nod your head in one direction or the other. If your voice should return, I advise you to say even less than last time.”
Charlie tilted her head. As she had remained silent during the previous disciplinary conference, she was left to consider arithmetical values less than zero.
Katherine sighed. “We’re late. We better get in there.” The aunt had arrived at the school only minutes before. She was habitually behind schedule.
The two entered the classroom, which at an earlier point, had been discharged of its students. Late afternoon sun filtered through rows of dusty windows lining the top of one of the classroom walls. Ms. Stiglitz, Charlie’s sixth-grade English teacher and acting school principal, was seated at her oversized desk at the front of the room. She looked up as the two entered, peering over reading glasses perched at the end of her beaklike nose. In her late fifties, her sable hair was tightly pulled back from her angular face. Dressed in a checkerboard patterned coral and green blouse, she rose from her desk. Katherine exchanged some pleasantries with the teacher as she pushed aside a few books on a long table, using the table as a chair. Charlie settled into a student chair-desk, with a book basket under the seat. She looked up at the presiding school magistrate.
As she tidied her desk, Ms. Stiglitz remarked that she had just returned from a committee meeting. “Although the school is still in a precarious financial state, at least our anonymous donor is keeping us afloat.” Her deep voice suggested a history of tobacco use. “Without the donor, I don’t know where we’d be. The last principal didn’t handle finances well. He turned everything over to me before following his dream to help the needy in Luxembourg. But enough about our situation. You didn’t come here to discuss our little financial problems.” After a protracted coughing fit, the teacher was able to continue. “Ahem… excuse me. I’m glad we could meet again today and put the post office box incident behind us.” Her gaze settled on Charlie.
For nearly two months, school correspondence sent to the Pareto household had been rerouted to an anonymous post office box. During this time, the school did not receive any response to its increasingly urgent requests for parent conferences. School emails and texts sent to the Pareto adults were also never received. Had these messages been delivered, Charlie’s caregivers would have been alerted to the school’s concerns about her unsanctioned activities at the school and her deteriorating attendance record.
“Naturally, my practice is to meet with the actual parents when problems arise with one of our students.” The teacher turned to Katherine. “Once again, your brother isn’t here. I’m guessing he’s attending to a pressing matter. A matter so pressing, that it’s taken priority over the welfare of one of his daughters. Fenton’s… Mr. Pareto’s lack of concern is disrespectful to… this school. The school is concerned about his parental competence and the rest. If I’d known what I know now, I would’ve advised the family court to—” The teacher did not finish her sentence.
Charlie studied the back wall of the classroom, which displayed a sampling of student artwork. There was no indication she was listening to her teacher’s impeachment of her father.
“Nevertheless, it’s heartening there’s at least some adult oversight,” Ms. Stiglitz said, giving a token nod to Katherine, “in whatever form it might take.”
Katherine folded her arms, choosing not to respond to the teacher’s prickly preamble. This was not the first time Ms. Stiglitz had aired her doubts about Fenton.
The teacher touched the hair on one side of her head to ensure her hair clip had not loosened its grip. “Setting all this aside, there are several concerns I’d like to share today. I understand, Charlene, you’ve lost your voice. No doubt, an unfortunate consequence of the schoolyard rebellion. Is there any way you can communicate with us today?” the teacher asked in a sugary tone.
Charlie typed into her phone, then passed the phone to her aunt. After reading the note on the phone, Katherine shared that her niece proposed to use a feature on the phone that translated text to voice. This would enable Charlie to respond to questions during her vocal convalescence. Katherine looked doubtfully at her niece. This communication approach had not been scripted in their pre-conference huddle.
The teacher cleared her throat. “Charlene, although we appreciated your contribution to the school—selling a record 428 beehive cookie jars as part of our door-to-door fundraiser this past term—it’s come to my attention that you did so by dishonest means.”
Students sold plastic cookie jars in the shape of a beehive, dovetailing with the school’s honeybee mascot. Each vessel was filled with cookies fashioned in the shape of the flying insect mascot.
“My source, who I will not disclose, informs me that you offered customers a chance to win a valuable prize if they purchased a cookie jar from you. This marketing approach was not approved by this school. And you doubled the price of the jars—marking them up from $20.00 to $40.00—skimming the mark-up for yourself. This was also not authorized and dishonest. Dishonest. Deceitful. Devious. Do you deny any of this?”
Charlie typed into her phone. After a brief pause, the phone translated her message into a soothingly optimistic womanlike voice: “The plastic cookie jars were poorly made. The cookies were stale. The value prop needed strengthening.”
“Just answer the question. Did you mark-up the price of the cookies and pocket the profits?”
The educator chose a red pencil from a cup filled with red pencils. She started to rhythmically tap the pencil on the edge of her desk.
After a pause, the mechanical voice answered, “The cookie jars were value-priced at $40.00.” Charlie chose to study her phone rather than make eye contact with her teacher.
“Charlene, this time you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.” Ms. Stiglitz inspected her own left hand, drawing attention to a well-worn idiom. “My source told me that you offered your neighbors and friends a chance to win a $2,500 savings bond as an inducement to buy our cookie jars. Do you deny this?”
“A savings bond raffle prize was offered,” the phone responded flatly.
The teacher leaned forward and smiled. “So, you took it upon yourself to… sweeten the pot… by entering people into a raffle if they purchased a cookie jar from you?”
Charlie gazed in the direction of the classroom door.
“My source also told me you called this prize a ‘Honey-B Bond,’” drawing air quotes around the unsanctioned raffle prize. “I’m guessing the ‘B’ was not just referring to our beloved insect mascot, but also represented the bond’s rating. In other words, you offered a ‘B-rated’ bond as your prize.” Ms. Stiglitz’s eyes locked on Charlie.
“The bond received a B rating,” the phone confirmed.
“And you actually awarded the bond to someone?”
The phone attested that it had.
“So, you tempted people with a speculative B-rated junk bond. Have you heard the term junk bond?”
“We are acquainted with the term.” The phone had switched pronouns.
“And you know that bonds with low ratings are called junk because they’re like worthless swamp land?”
The phone did not answer, now able to recognize rhetorical questions.
Ms. Stiglitz smiled as she paused to gaze at the classroom’s ceiling, reveling in her laborious interrogative process.
The teacher’s smile turned to a frown as she noticed a red pencil embedded in one of the acoustic ceiling tiles. She turned her attention back to Charlie. “To recap, you raffled a worthless prize, swindled your neighbors, and made a profit from a fundraiser. And you tarnished the reputation of this school. Did I get that right? Do you think your trickery makes your father proud of you?”
The phone considered the teacher’s questions.
The educator turned to Katherine. “I’m just trying to protect… trying to save… this school.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We’re having real financial difficulties here. We may need to close the school. Did you know I attended elementary school here? I’m doing everything I can to save this special place. You can’t imagine…” Her voice trailed off as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “Right now, we need to protect the reputation of the school, and avoid any unwelcome attention and...”
In an abrupt persona shift, Ms. Stiglitz straightened up in her chair as she swung around to Charlie. In a stern tone, she said, “And I’m going to need more information from you, Charlene.”
The teacher’s eyes bore into the girl. “What kind of junk bond did you offer?”
“An ABS,” the phone answered mechanically
“I’m supposed to know what that means?”
“An Asset Backed Security.” The phone’s answer almost interrupted the question.
“Exactly what type of asset?”
“A package of high interest automobile loans.”
“Ah! And, specifically, what type of ȯ-tə-mō-BEE-il loans?” Ms. Stiglitz slowly drew out each syllable, showing that she discovered another level of Charlie’s pun.
“Loans matching the profile of borrowers in that risk tranche.” The phone was unfazed by being thrust into a shrinking corner.
“Oh! I think I see now. These are very risky loans made to people with bad credit. I’m guessing your prize only has value if these proven deadbeats decide to pay off their car loans.” In a shrill crescendo, the teacher demanded, “Why on earth would you offer a prize like that?”
“Yield.” Since the phone’s tone was unreliable, it was unclear if the response meant high earnings potential, surrender, or both.
The teacher slammed her fist on her desk. “So deceitful! Like gambling! What will the school board say? They might investigate and negate the entire cookie sale, forcing us to retrieve the cookie jars and return all the money.”
Turning her attention back to Charlie, “I understand you sold multiple cookie jars to several customers. How many customers bought more than one cookie jar?”
“Several dozen.”
The teacher’s face reddened. “And what was the most sold to any one customer?”
“Fourteen,” the phone reported unambiguously.
“What? This wasn’t our plan! Troubling. Distressing. Disturbing. What can I do?”
The accused and her counsel sat in silence as the judge resumed her pencil-tapping, drumming the edge of the desk with metronome precision. Abruptly, the magistrate ended the countdown. “Oh! Do you have a list of customers who bought more than one cookie jar from you?”
Katherine shook her head and sighed.
After a pause, the phone disclosed that sales records were available.
Ms. Stiglitz smiled. “Wonderful. Fantastic. Marvelous. In any case, it doesn’t make sense to refund your customers their money. But we can’t have you profit from your dishonesty. I have very little latitude in this type of matter, so… So, you’ll need to pay back your ill-gotten gains to our school, amounting to…”
The teacher jabbed buttons of her oversized calculator, testing the resiliency of her peacock blue nail polish.
“After subtracting the cost of the bond, you need to repay $6,060 to the school.” She showed Charlie the number on her calculator. If you make this payment now, do not miss one more day of school and—this is really important—provide a list of customers who purchased more than one cookie jar from you, I’ll allow you to graduate. You’ve already been absent twelve days this term, two days over the Section 4820 limit. Our district loses state funding even for excused absences. Your absences have cost us hundreds of dollars. Given your absences, I’ve submitted paperwork to the district board recommending you repeat the sixth grade. But I’ll withdraw that paperwork if you meet these conditions. Can you pay now?”
The mechanical voice responded: “Non metterai mai le mani sui miei soldi. Mi vedrai tirare fuori un anello di cipolla dal mio orecchio prima che tu prenda un centesimo.”
The phone had switched languages.
The teacher scowled. “What was that?”
Charlie typed into her phone.
“That capital has been deployed,” the phone reported.
The Invisible Hand was a fun departure from the typical stories in the mystery genre. We follow Charlie and Clarke, the two Pareto sisters, on a series of modern-day sleuthing adventures. They’re supported by Emma, a recent college graduate and their newly hired guardian, as well as their father Fenton and aunt Katherine.
Recent trouble in their affluent neighborhood - including disruptions in cellular service, unusually rowdy barking from local pups, and a jewelry thief on the loose - drive the Pareto sisters on a fast-paced chase and a series of undercover investigations. Emma acts as a proxy for the reader, and as she familiarizes herself with Charlie and Clarke, so too do we. Whether it’s through explaining Italian phrases via dialogue, or experiencing Fenton’s less-than-traditional parenting styles firsthand, Emma's relationship building with the Pareto sisters reveals the reasons behind the dynamic duo’s interest in solving mysteries and fighting crime.
The unusually sharp and brilliant minds of our protagonists provide the reader well woven clues as we are quickly thrust into the action. The author maintains a delicate balance when characterizing the Pareto sisters and we’re reminded that, despite their higher-than-average intelligence, they are still in their teens. There is a childishness in some of the competitive behavior and a naivety behind the reasoning for one of the sisters’ fundraisers. The author ties together a variety of plot points and discoveries in a fulfilling way, though I did need to suspend my disbelief with some of the twists and turns near the end.
Some elements of the story structure could be distracting at times, including frequent song references that could feel too obscure, occasionally requiring one to pause, break out of the story, and look it up to understand its relevance. Most of the bonus content included in the Third Edition, with the exception of the two bulleted lists, could have been directly integrated into the story rather than at the end of the chapter. On the longer side, the pacing also felt slower than I’d expect in some sections, dragging a bit right before some bigger reveals.
All in all, I would recommend The Invisible Hand for those looking for a refreshing take on the genre and who appreciate modern day mysteries with strong female perspectives. You'll enjoy this book if you like guessing along with the twists and turns and you'll be entertained by the especially creative Authors’s Annotations and Afterword section at the end. I’m looking forward to seeing what the Pareto sisters will be up to next!