Carson shrugged. “Your family history has been in your file this whole time. I just chose not to share that with the cops. It felt . . . cruel, I guess? But don’t point fingers at me for stealing. You’re stealing, too—in a way. Stealing from your bigot of a father. Lying about who you really are. What do you think that guy will do when he learns the truth about you?”

The way the light hit his face, he looked almost angelic. He had chubby cheeks and dimples and wore a nice dress shirt in a delicate check pattern. The more Andrea stared, the more she realized she had owned a very similar shirt, back in the day. Christine had bought it for her.

“And that’s not all I’ll talk about,” Carson added. “Your old lawyer friend? Jerry? I have a list a mile long of shit he’s done. Bribery. Insider trading. There’s even a hint he put a hit out on a guy.”

“Wait, what?” Andrea’s throat was almost too dry to speak.

“It’s why we got Flora for so cheap. We found out a lot of it shortly after she came to us.”

Andrea shut her eyes. “Jerry’s a good person, all said and done. His wife is sick. Don’t do that to him.”

Carson shrugged. “I’m not the one making that choice.”

Andrea considered taking the folder and running with it, waving it to the cops like a white flag. But then she thought about the retaliation. How fast the press would swarm in. And Jerry. Oh, Jerry, she thought. If he’d just said something to her earlier. Maybe this could all have been avoided.

The sirens were in the parking lot now. Carson tipped his chin toward the window, as if to say, Well, what’s it going to be? Reluctantly, hating herself, Andrea placed the folder of information back on his desk and walked away.

Piper

September

Carson calls when you are in your kitchen, packing up things to head off to work. “I’d have to think they’ve seen the messages by now.”

“And?” you ask.

“They’ll be out of here soon.”

You pace the house. North has already gone off to school; a spare hoodie hangs on a hook by the door, unworn. You focus on it a moment, noting how new it still looks. North keeps his things so nice.

You want to feel calm. You want to feel like this is under control. But something feels off. You feel followed. Watched. You want to think you’re just paranoid—you’ve been paranoid for months, ever since Flora Haines came to you, having figured it all out and expecting some sort of medal for her efforts.