Nate and I laugh, pals again, united in our animosity toward the Bowtie. Burt Archer is a longtime friend of our mother. During parties, he stands in the corner like an antique spindly lamp, feigning a friendly affect while pointing out who got fat and who went broke. My parents’ circle is lousy with Burt Archers, but my brothers and I loathe the Bowtie the most.

“Is he helping?” I ask.

“Fuck no,” Nate replies. “He told Dad he knows a few judges in New Jersey, so he’s calling in favors to get Billy released. But he’s, like, five hundred years old, so most of his cronies are retired or dead. One thing he can do, though, is stave off the press. The Bowtie is a gossip whore with enough dirt to make a few media dons back off, at least for the moment. If this gets out, Billy will get hammered.”

“Maybe not. Billy hasn’t had it easy, Nate. He’s had his share of problems—”

My brother cuts me off. “He’s had rich-people problems, Cassie. Park Avenue problems. The kind of problems that evoke disgust, not sympathy. Billy is the whole trifecta: rich, white, Ivy League athlete. Put those together, and you’ve got a story everyone knows. The one where the loudmouthed jock gets tanked, loses control, and attacks the nearest female.”

“Loudmouth? Billy stutters, Nate. He doesn’t drink. He rarely goes out. He was in therapy for years—”

“Speech therapy.”

“Therapy is therapy, Nate. It counts.”

“Look, Cass. You know I agree with you. But these days, it’s hashtag–believe women. The world is gunning for white guys, and the rich rapist is a fan favorite. Especially the ending, where he’s convicted and dragged away in handcuffs, leaving his family disgraced and penniless.”

The chances of our family ending up penniless are nil, even if we’re saddled with exorbitant legal fees. But the image of Billy in handcuffs pierces my heart.

“Thankfully, Billy’s situation is different,” Nate continues. “Diana is unreliable, and her behavior is erratic. Dad said the cops will drop the charges once they get a clearer picture of her and Billy’s relationship. In a perverse way, it’s better that she was the one who accused him rather than some random girl he met at the party. But in the meantime, we have to keep his name out of the papers and off the internet. Otherwise, his Google hits will follow him the rest of his life.”

“You’re not worried? Even a little?” My own stomach is in knots that keep tightening.