“I get it,” Oliver says. Another cool-guy grin and his voice lilts. I know he never joined a fraternity. But something in his mannerism makes me think he did. Garrett cocks his head and examines him. “But here’s the thing.” Oliver leans forward. “One of your brothers was murdered—”

Garrett makes a noise like he’s about to object, and Oliver holds up his hand.

“We’ve found new evidence that the hit-and-run wasn’t random. That someone, or maybe a few people, wanted Jay Kemp dead.”

I would have saved this gem for later, but something in Garrett’s face shifts.

“Whoa,” he says, and stretches his arms behind his head. “I thought all the guys liked Jay.”

“That’s what everyone kept telling us, but no. He had enemies.”

Oliver lets that sit. Lets Garrett wonder what else he doesn’t know about his brothers.

Teddy hasn’t said a word. He doesn’t need to. Oliver’s doing fine. It’s strange though, and I angle to get a good look at him, but he’s positioned himself so his back is squarely facing the two-way mirror, and I can’t help but think it’s because of me.

“How about this: for now, we’ll tell you what we already know. That way you won’t be betraying any brotherhood secrets. You can just confirm what we’ve got and if you think of anything you can share without getting into trouble, then you say so.”

Garrett sits back in his chair. Something like relief washes over his face, and I wonder if the chill guy who walked in a minute ago was a bit of an act.

He nods.

“Great.” Oliver opens the folder on the table casually. “This is what we found in the basement.”

The photographs are blown up to the size of textbooks and look like they’re screenshots straight out of Saw. Stone floor splattered with dark reddish stains. Bucket turned over on its side spilling unmentionable contents thanks to me. Pliers nailed to the wall. Threadbare blankets lying in a heap.

Garrett closes his eyes once and presses his lips together. Maybe, I think, he’s blocked it out. Told himself it wasn’t that bad. And anyway, it’s over. He’s had a year to forget. Now he has beach parties, girls in bikinis, and all the hunch punch in the world to wash those memories away.

“Must have been cold down there.”

“Yeah,” Garrett breathes.

“There were two blankets. How many pledges slept there at a time?”

It’s a guess—that they had to sleep in the basement—but a good one. Oliver says it like he already knows.

“We all had to stay there twenty-four hours.”

And just like that, he’s told us.