“Hey, hey, Lar. I don’t need to explain a fucking thing. You’re not my client.” He turns to Billy. “That must’ve been brutal, kid. Diana’s testimony. I apologize. Not knowing how it would land, I couldn’t tip you off. But you did great. Your reaction was perfect.” DeFiore speaks dispassionately, as if he’s Billy’s Little League coach and just changed the batting order. He turns my way. “It’s not personal, Cass. No hard feelings, I hope. Jury had to know Diana lied about the texts. If she lied about the texts, she’ll lie about anything. Including rape.” He studies my body just as dispassionately. His eyes graze my neck, breasts, thighs, and crotch, leisurely, brazenly.

DeFiore knew about me and Lawrence all along, I realize. The dirty slut, the sleazy father, the whole fucked-up family. He was just waiting for the right time to use it.

“But it’s not true, Peter,” Lawrence insists. “What you said about me and my daughter. It’s not true.”

“Not the point.” DeFiore checks his watch. “Court resumes at eleven-thirty. I’ll finish with Diana. We’ll break for lunch. Then start again at two—”

“We have to go back?” Billy’s voice catches. “How can the judge let this continue? Diana perjured herself.”

“No, not perjury. She misremembered. Different legal concept entirely.” DeFiore’s laugh is sinister. “Of course, we’re going back. Anderson doesn’t want a mistrial any more than we do. To be frank, this could work in his favor. Familial anger is primal. He’ll say Diana tapped into that and you lost your marbles. Killed the messenger, so to speak. We’ll have to see.”

I realize something else. Even more than winning, DeFiore loves the game—shuffling players, pitting us against each other, tossing off ideas just to watch us react. However shrewd and manipulative I imagined he was, he’s likely twice that.

The way DeFiore’s eyes shine with excitement disgusts me. At the same time, I want him to use every trick he knows to grind Anderson into pulp. And there’s my answer: I won’t do anything for Diana. None of us will. We are complicit. We are responsible. We carry her like we carry our other crimes. The show must go on.

“Great, Peter,” Lawrence says. “You’ve not only slandered us, you’ve also jeopardized the verdict. Really fucking great.”

“The girl gave a convincing testimony. The jury bought every word. People were tearing up. We didn’t have a guaranteed win. So, I took a calculated risk. You’ll thank me later.” He pauses. “Okay, moving on. Lar, you’re up after lunch. I’ll run out the clock till five. Over the weekend, Cassie and Billy will rehearse. Monday, they’ll testify. Tuesday, closing arguments. Wednesday, verdict.” He points to Billy. “Then you’re home free.”

“Unless I go to prison.”