Meanwhile, up front, Danial and Alex were finding their own rhythm. She’d indulged him as he explained for nearly thirty minutes why he’d selected this car, an Audi rs6, and why he generally preferred Audis to BMWs (although he sometimes raced with the latter). Alex gave her usual spiel to New Yorkers on why Philadelphia was Really Great, Actually, listing the things he should do if he ever took the Amtrak down for an afternoon. They talked a little about the trip—the friends they’d be seeing, the places they were most excited to visit—and even made some polite conversation about their favorite new TV shows.

Alex was surprised at how naturally the anxiety began to wane once they were alone together. She had spent so many years building him up in her mind, so to see him teeming with a nervous energy made her feel powerful, the way she used to during their verbal sparring matches. They laughed, they hummed along to the radio, and, after an hour or so, one could have almost mistaken them for friends. But once it was clear Sophie wasn’t waking up, and the day stretched before them, the veneer of friendly small talk began to fade away.

Like a wound she couldn’t resist prodding, Alex pivoted the conversation.

“So, you work in private equity, I heard?”

She tried to sound naive, but she could see his knowing smile out of the corner of her eye. He saw exactly where she was going.

“Yes, I do.” He downshifted, merging onto another highway. “For about five years now.”

“Do you like it?” She leaned forward slightly, reaching down to unbuckle the leather straps on her sandals.

“Yes, it’s very challenging.” He checked his mirror before changing lanes. “It keeps me busy.”

He wasn’t going to give her anything. He was on his best behavior.

“That’s good.”

She let the hum of the road fill the silence, and for a moment, she thought he would leave it at that. But then, as if no time had passed, he took the bait.

“I’m guessing you probably don’t like that. Given what—” He cleared his throat. “Given what you do.”

“And what do I do, Danial?”

He seemed to tense up briefly at his name, or maybe at her saying it. Her goal for this trip was perfect coolness: to make him feel the full force of her indifference, to see how far beyond him she had evolved. The strategic deployment of his name, in a tone vaguely recalling a meeting with HR, was a key component of her plan.

“You work in politics.” He kept his eyes on the road, his tone neutral. “For Carter Stephens.”

At the mention of his name, she could practically hear the many lines she’d written for him, the time she’d had him refer to private equity as “Maggots on the corpse of the American middle class.”