Devin pressed the power button and set the phone on the seat before starting the SUV. He shifted into reverse and checked the backup camera. All clear. The last thing he needed, while his fortune somewhat shined at MINERVA, was to back over one of his colleagues. Shea would undoubtedly interpret that as the unceremonious end to his good luck streak.

The phone caught his eye before he let his foot off the brake. The home screen was filled with missed-call notifications and text messages. He put the vehicle in park and grabbed the phone. Jesus. His dad had called and left voice mails seven times in the past two hours. He found text messages buried between the call notifications.

PLEASE CALL ME AS SOON AS YOU GET THIS. VERY IMPORTANT.

SERIOUSLY. NEED YOU TO CALL ME RIGHT AWAY.

DEVIN. CALL ME NOW!

DEVIN. I’M AT YOUR APARTMENT! WHERE ARE YOU!

JUST CALL ME. SOMETHING HAPPENED. I’M PARKED AT YOUR PLACE.

HEADING HOME. CALL ME OR COME BY ASAP!

IT’S ABOUT HELEN. PLEASE CALL.

Of course it was. It was always about her—though this sounded entirely different. His dad rarely overreacted to her antics, or anything for that matter. Devin had seen him frazzled once, maybe twice, since as far back as he could remember. And Mom had given him plenty of opportunities to lose his shit. He must have been one hell of an analyst at the CIA. A voice of reason in a troubled world, even as his own world fell apart. Respected enough that they kept him on for three years after dismissing Helen, which got him to thirty years of service and a full pension annuity.

He called his dad and braced for impact.

“Devin! I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for—”

“Dad. Dad. I was working all night. I just got my phone back,” interrupted Devin.

“Okay. Okay. Jeez. I’m sorry,” said Mason Gray. “I didn’t even think of that. I just uh . . . I, uh. I don’t know how to say this.”

“Did Mom do something crazy?” asked Devin, regretting his choice of words.

His dad had made it abundantly clear over the years that he disapproved of the crude characterization. A part of him still cared for her very deeply, despite everything she had put him through.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that,” said Devin.

“No. It’s all right,” said Mason. “Maybe she really was crazy. Maybe that’s the only way to describe it.”

Devin didn’t like where this was going.

“Dad?” said Devin. “Is Mom okay?”

“No. She’s not. She’s dead,” said Mason. “She killed herself—but that’s not the worst of it.”

“What?”

How could that not be the worst of it?

“Not on the phone. Can you come by the house?” asked his dad. “I’ll make some breakfast. You must be hungry. What can I make you?”