Earlier, I said that Rachel accompanied CW when he traveled. But that isn’t the full story. CW insisted she come along with him, partly for his pleasure, but mostly to monitor her drinking. From his point of view, his wife was a danger to herself and only he could save her. But then she got pregnant, and CW realized she could save herself—with my help. “Rachel, my dear, this baby is your saving grace,” he told her. “She will give your life purpose.” And thus, at seven weeks old and still in the womb, I became the solution to my mother’s relentless addiction.

Unfortunately, for all CW’s genius, I was a lousy bet. One great lie of modern life is that parenthood is vital and transformative. For Rachel, it was a disaster. Upon my arrival, her drinking ramped up. Overwhelmed, overwrought, and overly indulged, she outsourced my care to day-nurses, night-nurses, live-in nannies, live-out babysitters, and finally, when she ran out of options, her upstairs acquaintance, Eleanor Quinn.

I believe Rachel tried. I have scrawled notes indicating as much.

You’re mine forver

Sorry, sorry, sorry, I love you, love you, love you

You’re my sweet princess and my heart

Cassie, you and me together 4-ever

The notes are maudlin and little-girlish, rife with misspellings, and likely written while drunk. Still, I cherish each one. They’re evidence that she existed, that she loved me. In photographs, we’re two happy kids, showing off matching red nails, licking ice cream, napping side by side on the beach. Not much, but not nothing.

I recently asked Lawrence about the car crash that killed her, whether it might not have been an accident. He equivocated, saying we’ll never know for sure. Not that knowing would’ve changed anything. When it happened, I was barely five, and already ensconced with the Quinns, my forever family.

Lawrence’s offer to raise me was magnanimous. Selfless. Kind. However, knowing him as well as I do, I’m sure he was equally relieved to be in a position to give back to CW, a man he revered like a god and loved like a brother. So, you see, the world of the wealthy isn’t just small and incestuous; we also have our own economy with our own currency. Lawrence, a rosy-eyed dreamer, saw value in me where others saw junk. She’s ours now, he said. She’s mine and Eleanor’s, to raise as we please. In this way, then, Lawrence’s unspoken debt to CW was repaid in full, the circle was closed, and my fate set in motion.

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