The loft space is cleared out except for stacked-up boxes, a table with a laptop, a heavy-duty printer, and a copier. On the walls, several whiteboards with dates, names, and deadlines. What captures my attention is Steve’s master board laid out with Daddy’s case. Motives and suspects are what I’m mostly caught by: Exculpatory Angles written on the side. That’s the holy grail of death penalty appeal cases. Error in the defense or prosecution often has the most success in identifying innocent clients.

As Steve sorts through boxes, he lets out a low whistle. “I can’t wait to get more familiar with your dad’s case.”

I check out an accordion file about two inches thick with black ink: James Beaumont. A bubbling excitement builds—I’ll finally be able to discuss everything I’ve wanted to tell Innocence X over the years.

“I’ll need to review the entire case transcript,” Steve says. “Do you have that?”

“Our first attorney requested it, but he didn’t leave us with everything. Now, if we want them again, we need to file and pay for it.”

“I’ll take care of that. Hopefully they’ll be cooperative and not delay us.”

“They can do that?” I ask.

“Do you have an hour, Tracy? I can ask a couple of questions to orient myself?” Steve switches topics.

I look to Dean, worried we might miss our window with Chris, but also torn because Daddy needs my help.

Steve takes my silence as agreement. “Good.” He pulls out a notebook and a small recorder. “During the Touric interview, you mentioned there are new suspects that Galveston County Police haven’t looked into.”

“About that.” A pang of guilt hits me. How exactly do I tell Steve the truth?

Steve studies my face. “No suspects, then. That was for the television?”

“I wanted to get Innocence X’s attention.” I look down, ashamed.

“I knew it!” Steve snaps his fingers. “I used it anyway to make my argument to make this case a priority.”

I blush. He knew I was lying.

“Who do you think killed the Davidsons? Is there a remote possibility Jackson Ridges was involved? I’ll have to clear that aspect first, question the family so I know where to focus.”

I rub my forehead. I don’t want to be part of dragging the Ridges family to benefit Daddy. Mrs. Ridges has been torn apart, and Quincy’s life has been much harder than ours. I can’t question them. It would be a betrayal. I turn my back to hide my queasy feeling.

I look out the window, searching for a distraction. A glint catches my eye, light reflecting off glass. A guy parked in a white SUV across the street watches us through binoculars. He’s in direct line of sight of the loft’s window. Spying on us.

“Someone’s watching us,” I say.