Finally, Cam is asking the right questions, gathering up the facts with his businessman’s mind. But before this call connected, the man was very specific about what I was allowed to say. The instructions, that I’m separated from the kids, that we’re fine for now but that Cam needs to hurry—those were all parts of the script. Everything else is on a case-by-case basis.

I look at him for guidance, and he gives a slow shake of his head. Panic heats the space behind my breastbone because I don’t know what that means. Am I supposed to lie and say he’s not listening? To not answer the question?

Cam reads the truth behind my silence. “Mister, I don’t know who you are, but I want you to be assured that I will get you the money. I’ll get whatever you want. But I’m begging you, please don’t hurt my family.”

I wait for the man’s response, but he stares at the phone in his hand as the silence stretches. He’s thinking, I guess, considering how to answer—if to answer. He looks at me, and his lips move, pink and exaggerated like a silent film star.

Police.

I frown, not understanding until his gaze flits to the phone.

“Did you hear the part about the police, Cam? You can’t call them. He said no law enforcement of any kind. He’ll kill us if you call them.”

“I heard you. I won’t call them. You have my word.”

The man rolls his eyes. Across the hall, the television fades into a commercial break and the house falls quiet, only a soft hiss coming from the phone. I stare at it, stomach acid burning up my throat as my mind bubbles with terrible thoughts. He doesn’t believe Cam. He doesn’t think he’ll bring the money.

Icy fingers clamp down on my heart and squeeze. “How long will it take you to get here? Do you remember the amount?”

“Seven-three-four-two-nine-six. I remember. It’s a strange amount.”

I said the same thing, too, and pretty much word for word. The man refused to tell me anything other than I better hope Cam will be able to scrounge up the cash.

But in the minutes ever since, in between his careful explanation of what I am to say and him punching the call into my phone, I’ve quietly come up with an answer: the number is not random. It’s the bottom line on a bank statement he fished out of our mailbox, maybe, or the purchase price for a building Cam is bidding on for one of his restaurants. Otherwise why not demand an even $800,000? Why not shoot for a million or more?