They made it back to Coral Street just before plates were due on the table. There were cars parked all along the block, and lurking shadows on the stoop of number twenty-four. Luckily, the old carriage house had been converted into a garage. Lillian turned into the narrow, cobbled alley that ran behind the town houses and prayed none of the pen-fencers had set up here. A prayer that went unheard: Her headlights passed over two slouching figures to either side of the carriage house who swiftly unslouched themselves to reveal a man and a woman. Each of these took a window of the car and began to hammer on them.

Lillian leaned into the horn, refusing to meet the eyes of her assailants. Eventually, Magnusson would—

Yes, there were the doors. She struck the accelerator with too much force and bounced into the garage, scattering journalists. Magnusson had a harder time shutting the sliding doors so quickly on his own. Lillian got out of the car and went to help him.

“Ms. DePaul,” said the woman, shining a torch in her face. “Were you aware of what your brother was planning?”

She put her body weight against one of the heavy slabs of wood, which squealed on its casters.

“Ms. DePaul,” said the man, “did you assist in his escape?”

Magnusson grunted. There was a shriek of rusty metal, and doors struck home. Lillian shot the bolt and let a breath out into the darkness.

“Ah,” said Magnusson. “Apologies. I was in a hurry.” Somewhere to her left she heard him shuffle, and then the snap of a switch. Light from a dim bulb warmed the garage, showing Stephen half out of the passenger side. One of his hands clutched the door, the other the back of his seat. He had that trembling lip again.

The passage to the house stood open, and Lillian heard footsteps and then saw Jinadh. He nearly fell down the bare plank stairs, and Stephen did not protest when his father gathered him into a tight embrace. Over Stephen’s head, Jinadh gave Lillian a look that said she was next.

If he could catch her. She had been thinking, as she drove. And now, she had work to do.

What she had told Cyril was true: Someone needed to apologize for their family. Their ambitious, ruthless, mess-making family. From Grandmama the general all the way down to Stephen’s blown-up car. And it wasn’t going to be Cyril, clearly.

“Ms. Higata has been ringing,” said Magnusson. “And the police have come around. They had a warrant, but found nothing.”

Stones. In all the upset, Lillian had forgotten to reach out to Rinko. At least she’d had a good alibi: She had been standing in front of the judge. Though that wouldn’t keep her safe from the rest of the investigation. It was one place to start apologizing, anyway. But Lillian had some bigger fences to clear first.