Kirsten nodded. ‘Clark Corporation has a licence to use my name for another twenty years. But Kent Clark’s wife has run the casinos since he died. She doesn’t want me involved, but I still get paid licensing fees, and I’m so done with TV appearances and recipe books.’

‘The fancy opening of the new drop-in centre is tomorrow, with the press and my foster parents, and the mayor and all of our big donors,’ Charlie said. ‘But we’ll be passing by shortly if you’d like a tour. Or not, if you want to go back to my house and relax.’

‘Tour please,’ Kirsten cried, laughing. ‘I’ve been stuck in a quarantine room for a week. I could sprint up Red Rock mountain with the energy I need to burn.’

Kirsten felt strange as she stared out of the car at barren strip malls, an unfinished football stadium and the weathered hulks of dead gambling resorts along The Strip.

‘Ed and I used to own that one,’ Charlie noted, pointing at the grubby towers of Janssen Riverboat.

‘You sold your shares in Janssen Corp?’ Kirsten asked.

Charlie nodded. ‘I invested money in my coffee-shop business. Ed has enough to pay for his medical expenses and any future needs. But we transferred most of the Janssen money into a charitable trust that runs mental-health drop-in centres.’

‘I loathed Vegas when I first came here with Harry,’ Kirsten admitted. ‘But I made some good friends and it’s sad seeing it so run down.’

As Kirsten said this, baby Harry sneezed.

‘Hey, buddy,’ Charlie said, and she grabbed a bottle of milk out of her bag. Then to Kirsten, ‘He’ll want feeding in a bit, but this formula is cold.’

Charlie picked Harry out of his car seat as the BMW rolled into a parking lot, its freshly painted markings spoiled by muddy tracks from construction traffic.

The land had once housed Janssen’s Cowboy Club, a small casino favoured by bikers that was grotty even by Janssen standards. The Club’s replacement was a clinically white three-storey building with a sign over the door that read Harry Smirnov Center – 24-hour Drop-in.

Charlie gently rocked baby Harry as she led Kirsten through its automatic doors.

‘This is our eighth centre in Vegas,’ Charlie said, pulling a hood over Harry’s eyes as she stepped into a quarantine box. ‘This centre is our biggest yet. There will be therapists and doctors on hand all day. So many people’s lives have been destroyed these past few years. A lot of the time, clients just want someone to talk to. Then we have counselling sessions for reversed zombies. There will also be addiction and eating-disorder clinics, and stress-relief activities, like meditation and yoga.