Quincy shifted his feet. “Yeah, about that. My company pioneered the app that projects hologram images from phones. We are about to launch a new version that allows you to project your image to whoever you’re talking to. I regret the name, now. Beam Me Up.”

William winced. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Bad taste. I get it. But the idea all along was to tell you about my great-grandpa Rex and his studies. I had no idea the connection to your great-grandparents and your grandmother. When I got that tip that you were living in Arkansas in a trailer, I figured you could use the money and might be a spokesman for it. Don’t punch me, I bruise easily.”

William then turned to Steven. “He received a tip?”

Steven held up his hands. “Full transparency: We knew we would be sending our people to try and keep you safe and bring you here. But we wanted a dual approach. If Rudd had failed, and you’d gone safely with Mr. Martin, then our plan was to reach out to explain that we needed to meet with you both.”

William shook his head. “I am getting the very distinct feeling that we really all are just pawns for your organization.”

Steven’s expression was grim. “We suspected when you surfaced, the SSA would not be far behind. Knowing what is happening here and around the world, we feared—and rightly so—that people were being abducted and returned again. But truly, all your great-grandmother wanted was to keep you safe. And so did I.”

“And you can’t blame him,” Quincy said. “If you were my grandson, I’d want you safe too.”

William flinched. “Excuse me?”

Quincy’s eyebrows raised, turning to Steven, who had closed his eyes in obvious frustration.

“Well, this is uncomfortable,” Quincy muttered.

The fan above the bed whirled slowly. William knew he should sleep, even if the nightmares were waiting. For once, the panic attacks were dormant, replaced by burgeoning anger.

And it was a petty anger, too. After everything that had happened, everything he’d learned, it was the smallest, most unimportant revelation.

He turned over, looking out the window of the upper bedroom of the house. After he had abruptly walked away from the fountain, he’d heard Steven call out that he would stay the night if William wanted to talk. He hadn’t responded.

The two burly guards had directed him to his room. He’d paced for a good thirty minutes.

Everything. Every whisper, every rumor, every suggestion that surrounded him his entire life was true.

“I can barely hear you above the violins,” he could imagine Roxy saying from the plush chair in the corner of the room.

I think I’m due a bit of rumination, Roxy.