“There were eight million dollars,” my uncle says. “Originally there was a little over ten million, but fees and hush money took a big bite. I sent two million each to Hector Cortez’s family and Yousef Hassan.”

I wait but Uncle Gavin seems to be done speaking. “What about the rest of it?” I ask. “That’s, what, four or five million?”

“How’s your locker at the Store-N-Go?” Uncle Gavin asks. “The gear in there? Your motorcycle? The other storage places around the country?” He leans forward slightly. “Where do you think all that came from?” He turns to Ethan. “The down payment on your house? Your college tuition? All from that.”

I’m still trying to process all this, but all I can think to ask is, “What’s left?”

“A little less than two million. I can raise it to an even two. But you need to decide how you want to play this handoff tomorrow.”

I nod, trying to slow my brain down, analyze the problem. Stone Mountain is an enormous lump of granite bulging out of the flat plain just east of Atlanta. It’s famous for an enormous carving of Confederate leaders on its north face, the largest such bas-relief artwork in the world. “Why Stone Mountain?” I ask.

“Maybe Finn’s a little bit racist?” Frankie says.

“It’s a big park,” Uncle Gavin says. “Plenty of places to hide, even if you’re just on the mountain itself.”

“Isn’t there a cable car or a skyride up to the top?” I ask.

Uncle Gavin nods. “Yes, but he’s sending you to the trailhead on the west side of the mountain. The skyride goes up the north face, past the carvings.”

“I’ve been on that trail,” Ethan says. “Up the mountain. It’s pretty steep in places. There’s a lot of tree cover and outcroppings. And you can sneak into the park pretty easily. If you drive, you’ve got gates that require tickets. But you can walk in at some points without one.”

“Then let’s pull up a map of the park,” I say, “and figure out how this is going to happen.”

HALF AN HOUR later Gus calls back. Police have already cordoned off Yousef’s house with crime scene tape, and an ambulance arrived just a few minutes ago, lights flashing but its siren off. That’s when I know Yousef is dead, maybe his wife and kids, too. The ambulance isn’t there to provide medical assistance—it’s for body transport.

“I’m sorry, Suzie,” Gus says at the other end. “If I’d gotten there sooner, maybe I coulda done somethin’.”

“He’d already done whatever he did by the time I called you,” I say. “I just wanted to make sure. Thank you, Gus.”

“I’ll stick around, see what I can find out. Alice might know the guys drivin’ the ambulance. Was this guy a friend?”