I nodded.

“I do,” I said. “Exactly.”

CHAPTER 35

Jordan

THE ADRENALINE PUMPED through my body as I pulled up at the tree line overlooking the valley where the power plant was. Mount Hope, where the town got its name, rose before me. Beyond ran the Sweetbay River, maybe forty or fifty yards across. Granite outcroppings surrounded the area, some higher and some lower.

The plant looked functional. Steam rose from the cooling towers, and construction vehicles surrounded the pit in the eastern end. The parking lot was full, as always. I spotted my dad’s SUV down there. A new fence was in place, and replacing the barricades that the guards could raise and lower was a chain-link gate across the entrance to stop people like me from doing exactly what I had planned.

I took a deep, nervous breath and strolled down to the two guards. Neither had been here the last time I’d visited the plant.

“I’m Derek Kingsley,” I said with a smile, name-checking one of my school’s overachievers. “I’m a student journalist from Mount Hope High. I have an appointment to interview a member of your staff and get a tour of the facility.”

“We don’t have you on the list,” the younger-looking soldier said, scrolling through an iPad screen.

“That’s weird. I spoke to Hazel Rhodes about this last week, and she said to come by today.” I put on a puzzled look, as if the power plant’s longtime telephone receptionist had led me astray. “I know where her office is. Should I just go over there?”

The other guard’s walkie-talkie squawked, and he cupped his hand over it; the only words I could make out were “shift change.” Then the two guards started talking in low voices while I smiled broadly, like I was the most patient dude in the universe. When the iPad guy caught my eye, I mouthed, “Can I go?”

“Hold on,” he said to his partner, then eyed me closely and nodded oh-so-slightly, as if I’d passed the good-kid test. “The door to reception is right there,” he said, pointing. “Go directly to Ms. Rhodes.”

“Sure thing,” I said, my heart suddenly thumping so loudly that I was afraid they might hear it. I quick-walked to the door and entered, striding right by Hazel, an exceptionally sweet, grandmotherly African American woman, as she sat in the office next to the reception desk. I’d heard that the key to getting where you weren’t supposed to go was to act like you belonged, so I lifted my chin and walked purposefully down the hallway. I knew where I was going. I’d visited my dad dozens of times over the years.

But I didn’t care about seeing him. I wanted to see his office.

Right. Left. Left. Double doors. Stairway one flight down. Right. Passing everyone with an air of belonging, nodding curtly as if almost bored. I was still dressed for school, yet the way I carried myself, I felt like I fit in with the other corporate drones seamlessly.