Miriam cocked her head, preparing for the final blow to her time at Carrigan’s, the ultimatum that would cut her off forever. She expected Ziva to say that her dad had offered a deal: he’d leave Carrigan’s alone if she stayed away.

“He won’t pull the offer,” Ziva said instead. “He’s going to go ahead with it whether you stay or go. I’m sorry. I thought I might be able to stop him. Whatever you need from me now, Miri, I’ll do it.”

Miriam sank down in her chair and dropped her elbows on her knees. “Fuck.”

She felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head, all of the fog finally gone. She looked around, really seeing her surroundings. She’d given her dad’s terror ten years, and she’d almost just given him the rest of her life too. She’d panicked, and she hadn’t thought.

She hadn’t thought about what it would be like, trying to make a life after this. She also hadn’t considered how much it would hurt Noelle if she ran, after promising she wouldn’t. She hadn’t imagined living with that regret every day, putting her emotions back on autopilot. She remembered Noelle quoting Rumi to her and knew, without a doubt, that she couldn’t go back to sleep.

Miriam looked up at her mom, who was watching her cautiously.

“Okay,” she said, bracing herself. “We annihilate him. Gather everyone. We need a war council.”

“We could hire an assassin on the Dark Web, so your mom would get the life insurance money,” Cole offered.

“That’s very, extremely illegal,” Elijah deadpanned before continuing. “You could do a GoFundMe. I mean, you do run a business for the kind of people who have enough disposable income to spend an extended Christmas vacation at a full-service inn every year.” He paused and then pointed out, “Also, GoFundMe is legal.”

“Y’all definitely could ask these people for help. All the old families and the Bloomers.” Cole had leaned forward on his forearms. “They would want to help you. And, Miri, it would serve your dad right for once again assuming that you have no support.”

Hannah ran her hands through her hair. “What if we don’t make the money? I’m not ruling it out, because it’s a lot of people’s livelihoods at stake. I don’t want to gamble the rest of our careers on the hope that the Bloomers would make it happen. I think we should do a GoFundMe, and also something else.”

“I’ll sell the paintings,” Miriam said. Cole was right—it made sense. Even though she wanted to hoard them and not let them out of her sight, if she sold them now, it would be her decision, her agency. The idea that it might piss her dad off was also, admittedly, delightful.