“And if I were to tell your mother how you’re doing?” The question jerks me straight and Norcut meets my eyes as she asks, “What would you want me to tell Bren? That you’re doing fine?”
“Yes. I’d also want to know how she’s doing, how my sister’s doing, and when I’m going to get to go home.” I pause, hoping Norcut will volunteer what I want. She doesn’t. “Did Bren say I can call yet?”
“They’re still adjusting, Wick. I don’t think it’s wise. Give it some time, okay? You haven’t been gone a week yet.” Norcut sounds so reasonable and yet the smile is still the same. Always the same. “This isn’t just about them. It’s about you and I don’t think you can decide who you want to be when you’re still mired in who you were.”
Who I want to be. I’m not even sure what that is.
Norcut waits, watches. “Mr. Hart tells me you received a message this morning about your work and implying you were behind Alan Bay’s death. Why do you think someone would have done that? Think it through. Who would gain by scaring you?”
“I have no idea.”
“I do. Your father’s escaped from prison, Wick.”
My hands . . . my feet . . . my face go numb. Cold. “That’s impossible!”
“That’s what I thought too, but it’s not and he did.”
“My sister—”
“Is safe,” Norcut finishes. “We’re keeping your family under watch, but you have to realize Lily was never as . . . useful to him as you are. I would be surprised—very, very surprised—if he attempts to engage her. It simply isn’t in his nature.”
“You don’t know that.”
“True. He could surprise me.” Norcut’s attention switches from my face to my hands. She catches how they’re trembling. “But I don’t think he will. I do think he’s behind that message.”
“That’s a little sophisticated for Michael.”
“Is it? He was extremely manipulative when I knew him. What about the car accident? What if he’s coming for you? Do you have something he wants? Maybe he’s trying to rattle you.”
I laugh. It’s so sudden we both jump. “Michael doesn’t ‘rattle’ people,” I say. “It’s not his style. If he wants to make a point, he’ll make it in person—or through a person. He has people still. They do what he wants, when he wants, without question. If he wants to make a point, he’ll do it.”
My father has always been more physical than psychological. When he retaliates, it usually involves your body and blood. He doesn’t tolerate disobedience. He doesn’t tolerate betrayal.
My stomach drops a sickening inch. “Griff.”
“What?”
“Griff. He’s in danger. If my dad’s loose, Griff’s in danger. He provided testimony incriminating Michael.”
And in the process erased every one of my digital fingerprints from my father’s credit card scams. Griff saved me and now he’s in danger. I know what happens to snitches.
I brace both hands on Norcut’s desk. “You have to do something for him. You have to keep him safe.”
“I’m not interested in trailer park boys, Wick, and your father wouldn’t have time for revenge.”
“He would make the time.” I pause and pull up straight. “How did Michael escape?”
Norcut’s smile is a straight line. “Forged paperwork. Someone went in with legitimate—well, they appeared legitimate—release papers and walked him straight through the front doors. From what I understand, the forgery was excellent.”
“When?”
“Three days ago. Do you have any ideas who could help him with something like this?”
Bay could. I try to brush the thought away, but it lingers. “Alan Bay seemed . . . sort of friendly with Michael when I was growing up—got him out of a lot of restraining order requests, that sort of thing. What if Bay helped Michael before he died?”
Norcut’s eyes go bright. “That’s exactly what I was wondering. I treated Judge Bay’s sons years ago. I know how Alan can be motivated. If Michael had the right amount of money, anything Bay had would be for sale.”
I shake my head. “Trust me on this: Michael doesn’t have any money.”
“He does though. He stole eleven million from us.”
My stomach goes oily. “What?”
“I’ll level with you, Wick. Your father accessed Looking Glass’s corporate account and wiped it. We’re missing eleven million in cash and we need it back.”
“Eleven. Million?”
Norcut rubs her thumb against the blotter. Her computer beeps and Norcut’s gaze cuts to the screen, reading something. “Two eyewitnesses placed Michael close to your old home,” she continues. “And Kent just emailed me the virus sender’s location—it’s Joe Bender’s former address. Why do you think that is? What would he want badly enough to make him stay?”
“No idea.”
“But how could you not know? You worked at his right hand for years.”
“I worked a lot with Joe too. It doesn’t mean I knew everything that was going on. Neither of them trusted me.”