I was taught from an early age: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” The Golden Rule. We even gave it to my parents as a Christmas gift—Will carved it onto a plaque to hang on the front porch. My father repeated it often, sometimes to himself, sometimes to us, sometimes to no one in particular. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

As an adult, my thoughts on the Golden Rule have evolved: do unto others the way they deserve to be treated. Give people what they’ve earned.

And if they’ve murdered your best friend, they’ve earned public humiliation.

“Wow.”

When I look up Reed is standing there, admiring me in a genuinely brotherly kind of way. Like he’s proud of me and proud of Graham for locking me down. Like he’s happy I’m about to join their family.

“Eliza, you look, I mean—” He takes my hand and spins me around. I go along with it to buy myself time; to let myself take a deep breath—a few of them—and gear up. To finally get myself out of here. And to give him what he deserves.

“Do you have your computer?” I ask. “Half the crowd is already here, so...we should get it started.”

From under his arm, he slips his laptop out of a brown leather case and puts it on one of the unfinished tables. “Happy Wedding Day,” he says, resting his thumb on the fingerprint recognition button like he, too, was presenting me with an all-inclusive vacation to Colorado. “Um...” He types his password into the space and judging by the movement of his fingers, he was not typing June 4, Veronica’s birthday. “I’m not sure—”

He can’t get into his computer. That means someone else did. That means Jess was close and that, if her calculations were correct, I should be hearing shocked gasps from the crowd in three...two...

“What the fuck is going on?” Doug storms into the tent, his face so red it looks like it might pop right off his body. He beelines straight to the computer and tries, as a seventy-year-old man does, to unlock it—to no avail, obviously. “This is not funny, Reed. Turn it off.”

“I don’t know what—”

“Turn it fucking off!”

Before he can finish, he and Reed are stomping out of the reception tent and across the cobblestone street as I follow, coolly from behind, one step at a time. I can’t help the smile forming on my face. It’s like watching an actor break on SNL. Trying to hide it is fruitless so you’re better off pulling a Bill Hader and turning it into a character trait.