“Who’s that? Who’s that?” Afraid it was my husband. Afraid because it could be anyone.

But Hillman ignored me, and I heard the sound of one of the others moving the other chair until it was all the way behind me. Whoever it wasn’t couldn’t or wouldn’t say anything.

“We’re going to prop you up so you can talk to someone. If you give us any trouble, that man over there is going to shoot you with your own gun.”

“It’s not my gun. Who else is here? In the chair.”

“Okay? Do you understand me? About shooting you?”

I grew still. Hillman looked like he was about to hit me.

“Okay.”

With difficulty, I got into a sitting position despite the thicket of exploded lawn chair around me. Pieces cut into my arms while others dangled from weird angles.

The laptop was set on the stool, and I could see a face in motion across the screen. A familiar face.

Older than his photographs. White hair and a white beard. Hollowed out at the cheekbones so the eyes shone with an almost messianic glint. Who could mistake him for any other soul? The senior Vilcapampa, Silvina’s father. The head of legions from hell. Maker of money across the globe, at whatever price. Beloved philanthropist.

“Jane,” he said, smiling, his voice hollowed out, too. A smoker’s voice. Those cigars.

But he didn’t just say “Jane.” No, Mr. Vilcapampa used my full legal name. Drawn out. The hollowness became gravel, then faded again. I couldn’t tell if it was the connection or just his voice. I was too in awe of him. Not in the sense of worship or adulation. But in the sense of a mythical beast appearing before me so unexpectedly.

“This is illegal. This is kidnapping,” I said. “Who else is in the room? Who’s behind me?”

Like a stupid parrot. The kick in the side had dislodged more pieces of the chair. I still couldn’t get free, but maybe if they kicked me some more …

Vilcapampa shrugged, ignored my question. “Perhaps. Was it legal when you broke into this apartment?” I was sick of hearing about that. “Anyway, it matters not.” It matters not. Just the way he spoke. “You’re an intelligent woman with a high-powered career. Why do you think I want to talk to you? Why should I take the time?”

Like this was a job interview or he was with HR and I was about to receive a reprimand.

“I don’t know. I don’t care.” Which was true, in a way. He was like a cliff or a surging sea. A projection of masks. A force that had worn on Silvina like a geological event. The stench of the salamander scorched my nostrils. I hated him.