After his father’s death, Gibson Vaughn became a completely different person—hostile, defiant, and antisocial. The impact was clear as day. He withdrew from the computer science classes he was auditing at the University of Virginia. His grades plummeted. Three fights in two months. A suspension for cursing out a teacher. He’d gone to live with his aunt full time, and Jenn’s report had copies of the increasingly despairing letters Miranda Davis wrote to her sister-in-law, detailing her nephew’s deteriorating behavior. How he rarely spoke anymore. Didn’t eat. Wouldn’t leave the house except to go to school. How he spent all day and night in his room on his computer.

It was a matter of public record what he’d done on that computer.

She knocked lightly at her boss’s door. George had always encouraged her to trust her instincts and to speak her mind. It was a trait that had never served her well at the Agency, and it had taken time for her to take him at his word. She didn’t come by trust easily, but George Abe had it. She would walk on broken glass for him.

He’d thrown her a lifeline after her career at the Agency had imploded. Recruited her when she thought she didn’t want a job, tracked her down at home when she ignored his numerous calls and convinced her to come to work for him. To this day, she had no idea how he’d even known who she was. But he’d nursed her back into work shape and given her room to regain her confidence without feeling coddled. A good thing, because she would have quit on the spot. In retrospect, she knew she would never be able to repay that debt.

“Come.”

She opened the door. George was behind his desk, reviewing the financials from the first quarter. The Rolling Stones played in the background. A live version of “Dead Flowers.” She didn’t pay much attention to music and hardly ever knew who was playing, but she knew this song, because George had once spent an hour extolling the virtues of Townes Van Zandt’s acoustic cover during a trip to New York. The Stones were George’s favorite band, and she’d grown accustomed to Jagger’s lecherous caterwauling. An autographed poster of an enormous pair of lips, tongue protruding, hung framed on one wall. It was from one of the band’s US tours and was one of George’s prized possessions. A photograph of George beside Keith Richards hung nearby.