She runs through the house. Anya, Anya, has Anya already been here? Where is my son? Then she sees his open laptop on the kitchen table. On the screen is the email, telling him to go down to the tree; she’ll send someone he knows.

The tree. She runs out of the house, down the yard, to the greenbelt. No press here yet; it is private property, unlike the public street in front of her house. She runs down to the tree. No one is there.

Who is helping Anya destroy Danielle’s and Iris’s families?

Marland. The Butlers? Their house is owned by the same company as Danielle’s. Firebird. Did Anya find discredited clients of Danielle’s, give them information to blackmail Danielle with, and buy the house for them? How deep does her revenge run?

She runs back up the greenbelt. To the Butler house.

The back door is unlocked; the Butlers stand in the kitchen, drinking champagne. They are toasting each other, clinking flutes. Carrie stares at her; Steve turns, and the joy on his face vanishes and turns to stone.

“Where is my son?” Iris says. The tone of her voice is one she’s never heard before. Not even in the cold of an abandoned Russian village.

“Get the hell out of our house.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s not here,” Carrie says. “We haven’t seen him.” Her voice is sharp and harsh. “You seem to have a real issue with keeping track of your children. Why they gave you one is beyond me.”

“I will go outside and start screaming at the press that are outside my home that my son is missing,” Iris says, “if you don’t tell me where he is.”

“He’s not here,” Steve says, and so Iris pulls Marland’s gun from her purse. She aims it squarely at Steve.

“I will use this,” she says slowly, carefully. “Where is my son?”

They don’t answer, staring at the gun. “Now, put that down,” Steve says in a calm voice. “Grant is fine. No one’s going to hurt him. But he’s not here. Did he tell you he was coming here?”

“You met him at the tree,” she bluffs.

“Well, he didn’t meet us. He surely didn’t. So let’s just calm down and—”

She fires, and the bullet shatters the cabinet behind him. She hears the breaking of glass, the splintering of wood. Carrie screams. Steve drops his champagne flute, and it shatters on the floor.

“What are you celebrating, a job well done?”

They’re silent. Breathless with shock.

“You moved here just to scare Danielle. She wasn’t going to give you a child. She told you no. You couldn’t possibly choose to see the woman who denied your dreams on a regular basis as a neighbor. So, why are you here? Who is Firebird? Why did someone buy you this house?”

Their faces go pale.