“He took money, Dad. Anthony gave him money to send to me. Michael set up the account. The checks were in his name. When they stopped I couldn’t go after Anthony, because he said he’d sue for custody. And I didn’t know how to reach Michael, and frankly, I couldn’t stand the idea of even talking to him after what he’d done.”

“He was a son to us, Ann.” Her father’s voice broke. “Losing him was so painful. I felt I’d failed. Your mother and I both did. I feel we ought to at least have a conversation.”

“No!” Ann wanted to leave Michael behind the locked door of her past. “He exploited my situation. I loved him, I did. He knew it. And he took advantage. Promise me.”

Her father didn’t promise. He just put his arm around her and nodded.

She returned to Boston feeling wonderfully unburdened, happier than she’d been in a long time, determined to finally confront Anthony. Little did she know that would be the last time she’d see her parents alive. They’d stopped in Boston just before their fateful trip, but only Noah saw them, because she was at a furniture conference in Chapel Hill. She figured there’d be another time. Christmas, the next summer, whenever.

Now she was haunted by her father’s silence when she’d asked him to promise not to reach out to Michael. Only once in all these years had she tried to find him herself. Once, during her last job search, she typed his name into LinkedIn on impulse. Who knew there were over two thousand Michael Gordons? She didn’t even allow herself to scroll, and cleared her browser history as if she’d been searching for porn, scolding herself. Now this search gave her comfort. Suppose her father had tried to reach him? Wouldn’t he also have hit the wall of Michael Gordons, and even more Michael Davises?

Was it possible that Michael knew her parents had died? He’d already profited from her. Surely he wouldn’t try to get a piece of the pie?

The will, the will! She’d looked everywhere for it, in both Milwaukee and Wellfleet—between her parents’ mattress and box spring, in the secret hiding space next to the fireplace, in every drawer, cupboard, and filing cabinet, even folded between the pages of books. She just needed to sell the houses quickly and get it over with so he couldn’t come out of the woodwork. She had absolutely no intention of sharing the proceeds of the estate with him. When she filled out the forms the lawyer gave her, she didn’t include his name, didn’t signal that anyone else might have a claim.