He’d never been there. Ojai was a small city set in a valley in the Topatopa Mountains, a tourist hub for people who were into art galleries and New Age bullshit shops and spas where you got rubbed down with lava stones and given coffee enemas.

“Why I remembered it,” Faye said, “is because Anton wrote on the paper. It said, ‘Chauncey Harrington, seventy-two, eighty-seven point six mil, paper.’ That name mean anything to you?”

It didn’t. Sebastian grabbed the Mac, balanced it on his lap, and plugged “Chauncey Harrington” into Google.

The guy didn’t have his own Wikipedia page, but there had been several stories about him over the years, mainly about his paper empire, which he had sold ten years ago for close to ninety million dollars. The most recent story had included Harrington’s age: seventy-two.

Sebastian shared his findings.

Faye said, “Candice Jackson mentioned Ojai—remember?”

“Right, but then she said she was sure it was Santa Paula.”

“She also said she was really messed up, didn’t remember much. And remember, Anton was thinking about going into business with Paul. What if Paul told him the name of his investor? If he did, Anton would have checked the guy out.”

Sebastian thought about Paul’s last phone call, Paul telling him he didn’t want the money anymore. Had Paul found his angel investor?

“This guy may know where Paul is,” Faye said. “We should talk to him.”

“Got to find out where he lives first.”

“I know the address.” Faye gave it to him.

“You always memorize random addresses?”

“It was the only residential property Anton had in that stack, which is why I remember it. That and the writing.”

Was she telling him the truth? After her Academy Award–winning performance with Candice Jackson, he wasn’t sure he trusted her.

But he needed her for this.

“I think we should go to Ojai first,” she said, “follow up on that lead.”

Sebastian decided to play along. “Why’s that?”

“It just . . . feels right.”

“Ojai is further northwest. Hold on a sec—I’m reading something here. . . . Okay, it says Ojai has been without power for the past two days. Electric company shut it down as a preemptive measure against the winds.” Some of the worst wildfires in the state’s history had been caused when the high Santa Ana winds either blew trees and branches into power lines, sparking fires, or snapped distribution poles and sent live wires onto the dry grass nearby.

“Santa Paula,” Sebastian said, “still has power.”

Faye said nothing, locked in thought, her face blank.

What if Paul is in Ojai—with Grace?

What if he’s already moved his carriers somewhere else?

What if he’s in the process of moving them not from Santa Paula but from Ojai?

What if, what if, what if—the words thrumming through his head and hammering his heart, Sebastian wanting to scream at Faye to slam her foot on the gas and barrel through the goddamn traffic.