“So Meg falls, dies. Baby…baby dies, I’m guessing. Soon after. Little girl, I said that, right? Little girl. Dies. And my mom… She does nothing for, like, two hours. Just sits there with Meg. Can’t process it, so just sits there. Maybe if she called for help right away, my little girl could’ve lived. But my mom? She called me two hours after it happened. And by then, there was no saving anyone.” Colin was close to sleep and, strangely, almost at peace. “It just happened a few days ago. But I’ve already forgiven my mom, because that’s what families do. She’s not a bad person, she just has brain rot. I suppose everything rots eventually.”

Silence on the other end of the phone.

“My point is, Rose, that I know all about families. I get it. And if you ever want to talk to me about your family, you’ll find someone who understands.”

Colin stopped talking. He had nothing more to say on the matter.

Then he pulled the phone out from under his cheek and saw the line had disconnected. Rose had hung up at some point.

He liked to think she heard what he’d said.

The bit about family. He hoped she’d heard that, because it was all true.

Seconds later, Colin was asleep, dreaming terrible things.

Forty-Seven

Bury, New Hampshire

November 16

6:03 a.m.

Six in the morning, my phone buzzes. The text doesn’t wake me. I’ve been up for hours.

I slept fitfully for a couple hours after Pearson’s call, but by one thirty, I conceded defeat to any further rest. I put on my robe, grabbed my laptop and phone, and went downstairs into my father’s study. Poured myself a cognac and then eased into his chair. I wanted to be Logan Yates for a little while, if only to see what he would do in my position.

Bleary-eyed, sipping a drink I didn’t even enjoy, I summoned the mindset of my father. It didn’t take long before I realized exactly what he would do. He’d fight with every ounce of his being. He’d use his money and ego to rage against anyone posing a threat to him. He’d lie, he’d misdirect, he’d sue. Logan Yates wouldn’t be satisfied until he not only won the battle but humiliated his enemy in the process.

At what point would Logan Yates take off and run? The situation would have to be hopeless.

I don’t want to be like my father, and sitting there in the room smelling of cigar smoke and bitter years, I knew I had to do the exact opposite of him. The moment I came to my decision, a tremendous weight lifted, as if I’d been held captive for years and I woke one morning to find my cell door wide open.

After this decision, I wrote. Wrote like I never had before. Not in fits and bursts, but a marathon of words, hour after hour, getting up only to pee and refresh my drink. I didn’t even know where my current story was headed until I began typing, but it unveiled itself to me as I wrote, as if I were driving a hundred miles an hour at night and could just see enough of the road ahead to keep from crashing.