“You have not been eating,” Mrs. Chen said. “I can tell. You are too skinny, Dee.”

“She’s still living on protein bars,” Reagan said, ratting me out.

“They’re full of vitamins,” I argued, aware I sounded lame.

Mrs. Chen shook her head. “You can’t beat people up if you don’t eat!”

She knew me so well.

That evening, I cared about food a lot. Mrs. Chen made a spicy pork stir-fry with carrots and peppers and peanuts. After dinner, she hurried off to video chat with her sister in Guangzhou. I pulled the memory card out. “Remember when I told you Caro gave me a zillion photos? There are spreadsheets too.”

“And you want me to explain them? Fine. But only if I get to see some snaps of mini-Dee.”

I handed the card over, and she put it into her laptop, a shiny new model that put my bashed-in one to shame. The first picture opened, and she started to heckle me mercilessly.

“I can’t believe your mom was able to wrangle you into dresses. And pink ones, at that.”

“Be careful. There are shots of you on there. That awesome haircut you gave yourself when you were twelve has been documented for the ages.”

“Aw, hell,” Reagan muttered. “That’s blackmail material.” She started opening up the spreadsheets. “How did you finish work so early today? Mom wanted to ask you over for dinner, but you don’t get home till after ten on Thursdays.”

“T-Rex sent me to Aubrey’s apartment.”

“Shit. Did that creep try anything this time?”

“He went for full molestation today. Groping and kissing.”

“Tell me you tore his limbs from his body,” Reagan said.

“Close enough. He was on the floor when I left. He wasn’t getting up anytime soon.”

“You need a different job. One that doesn’t put you in mortal danger.” Reagan’s attention shifted to the screen. “Hello, financials. My happy place.”

I gazed at the screen. It was some kind of operational budget, but unlike my best friend, I zoned out when looking at numbers.

“Okay, this spreadsheet is telling us a sad story,” Reagan said. “I know you hate math, but this is pretty simple. See this number? That’s the operating budget for the Thraxton hotels in Europe last year. That’s a big number. And see this number?” She pointed at the screen. “That’s gross income, and it needs a couple more zeroes to break even.”

“You’re saying the chain is losing money?”

“They’re hemorrhaging money,” Reagan clarified. “Maybe this is a bad year from the pandemic. If it’s not, the company won’t be in business much longer.”

Reagan opened up more files, but they were more of the same.

“Why would your sister give you this?”